


Alien Us

by Philippe de la Matraque (Inheildi)



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, No Smut, Original Character(s), Torture, Vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 168,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inheildi/pseuds/Philippe%20de%20la%20Matraque
Summary: For Reed and Hoshi, this is their Roswell, and they are the aliens. Rating for character violence and torture.





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Set somewhere in the near future of the Enterprise timeline, at a time when _Enterprise_ is once again exploring, but still has MACOs aboard, as they proved useful. Also, I have edited the names of two OCs here based on some of the professional novels out there. Carstairs is in communications and Chief Lee is in security. 

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters--well, except the original ones. The series isn't mine, but the setting is--well, when they're not on _Enterprise_. The situation, on the other hand, is all mine. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Prologue**

"Sir," Hoshi called out from her seat at the Communications console, "I'm picking up a signal. It's garbled but it doesn't seem to be a distress call." 

Archer walked over to stand nearer her station. "What makes you say that?" 

"It's not on all frequencies or even a wide band," she stated, running her fingers over the console again. "It's on our frequency; it was sent directly to us. And it doesn't repeat." 

"Let's hear it," Archer ordered. 

The message played but Archer could barely hear any hint of a voice beyond the static. Hoshi, however, had an amazing sense of hearing. 

Hoshi shook her head. "I can't make it out, but it almost seems to have a Denobulan inflection." 

"Try and clear it up and see if the doctor can shed any light on it." Archer turned and walked over to T'Pol. "Can we tell where it's coming from?" 

"It appears to originate from the fourth planet in the nearest system," T'Pol replied. "About one hundred thousand kilometers out." 

"Mr. Reed," Archer said, turning. "Can you read anything on the planet?" 

"Some," Reed said, not looking up from his console. "There's a strong magnetic field that's distorting our scans of the planet itself. But I can make out geosynchronous satellites in orbit. There are no ships in orbit of that planet or any other in the system. Nothing on subspace either." 

"It appears to be inhabited by a pre-warp society," T'Pol interjected. "There is evidence of surface to air vessels, but few vessels that can reach beyond the atmosphere." 

"But this signal came on a subspace frequency?" Archer asked, turning once more to Sato, who only nodded once. "Well, that's a bit of mystery, isn't it? It would appear that there's someone down there who doesn't belong. Someone who knows our address. Let's take a look, Mr. Mayweather. Alter course. In the meantime, maybe the Doctor can take a crack at that message after we clear it up." 

"Sir?" Hoshi asked. 

"What is it, Hoshi?" Archer replied as he sat back in his chair. 

"The doctor's halfway through his annual sleeping cycle." 

"Oh, well, in that case, do your best, Ensign." 

* * *

Hoshi Sato tapped the console beside the captain's ready room door. When it opened, she stepped inside and waited for the captain to look up from his work. When he did, she held out a padd to him. "I managed to clear it up some, but there's some major interference. Commander T'Pol thinks that is because of the magnetic field and high levels of tachyon emissions from frequent solar flares. Anyway, it _is_ Denobulan, though. I caught one word. It means 'help.'" 

"Well, that makes it a distress signal after all," Archer said, leaning back in his chair as he studied the padd. "Do we know of any Denobulan missions out this way?" 

"None, sir," Hoshi said, then cleared her throat. "But if you listen to that message, you'll see there's something even more troubling about it." 

Archer cocked his head in question at her, but pressed the padd and the signal began to play again, only slightly clearer than before. 

This time the voice was slightly easier to hear. It was male, Archer could guess, but other than that, he was a loss to even hear more than one syllable. And he guessed that one syllable was the one that Hoshi deciphered as "help". The voice stopped but the static remained a few more seconds, punctuated now by a clicking sound. 

Archer looked up at her and shook his head. 

"The clicks at the end, sir," Hoshi pointed out. "Morse code. I can only make out the last five letters." 

"And they are?" 

Hoshi took a deep breath. "Me, sir," she replied. "It's my name." 

**Chapter One**

Hoshi let her hand prop her head up as she picked at her salad and stared blankly at the wall in front of her. She didn't feel like eating. The captain had ordered her to try and reply on the same frequency, but there was no evidence that the communication was received on the other end. Whoever it was that had sent the message was apparently in some kind of trouble. It was a male voice and what few syllables she could make out sounded winded and rough. Often the inflections were just a bit off. Whoever it was wasn't Denobulan, Hoshi had decided, even if he had spoken the message in Denobulan. And whoever it was seemed to know her, or someone who shared her name, which seemed unlikely this far from Earth and the shipping lanes. 

Still, she was the only other person on the ship besides Doctor Phlox who knew any Denobulan. Sensors were having difficulty reading through magnetic interference so that they couldn't just scan the population for a known species. So, in just two hours, she'd be on a shuttlepod heading down to the planet to try and find the mysterious man who sent the cryptic message. Captain Archer had wanted to go as well, but Lieutenant Reed and T'Pol had talked him out of it. A pre-warp society might not take kindly to aliens, as he was well aware from past experience. It could be dangerous. So instead Reed and one of the MACOs would be her escort. 

She was curious, of course, about the message, and she'd been on enough missions away from the ship by now to not be terribly nervous about them. But just as it would be dangerous for the captain, it would be dangerous for her. They didn't even know what the natives looked like or if they'd ever had contact with aliens before, with the exception, it would seem, of the man they were going to find. And it wasn't that she didn't trust the lieutenant to protect her. In fact, she trusted few people more to do that. To say he was a private man would be an understatement, to be sure, but he was fiercely protective of those he was charged with. In fact, he could be overprotective at times. Hoshi didn't doubt that he'd take a bullet for her or the MACO if the situation gave him no other choice. 

This whole situation, however, was unsettling. She had no doubt that the man was not a native, and that he was in trouble. And that meant that if they were trying to find him, they were heading into trouble themselves. She'd seen enough old movies to have an idea what a pre-warp society might do to an alien found on their planet. The more she played the message over and over in her head, the more she felt the man was in some sort of pain when he sent it. And each time, those last five letters in Morse code made her stomach churn. How did he know her name? 

* * *

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed checked his weapon one more time. He knew it was fine, fully charged and ready, but he checked it anyway. Something about his upcoming trip with Hoshi just didn't sit right. He didn't like that the caller had used Hoshi's name. It almost felt like a trap to him. But there was nothing to base that feeling on. No one from Earth, or Earth's allies, had ever been known to reach that planet. Given that the society had not yet invented spacecraft that could go beyond their moon would lead one to believe that they'd never sent anyone to Earth either. So no one native to that planet had any right to know Hoshi's name. It was all just a little too personal for Malcolm's taste. 

He was glad, at least, that Captain Archer had backed down. Trip had helped, calling just then to tell him of some problem with the warp manifold. _Enterprise_ needed her captain. Picking up one man on one primitive planet shouldn't be too much of a problem for the shuttlepod crew. Once they broke through the magnetic field in the upper atmosphere, they would be able to use the shuttlepod's sensors to scan for known species and thus, pinpoint, the caller. The plan was to go in at night and land in a park or other unpopulated area. They were then to try and make contact and reconnoiter the situation to see if the caller could be extricated without too much of a disturbance to the native population. For that reason, his phaser would be set to stun only, and he and the MACO had gas grenades that could render an entire room unconscious. 

Finally, it was time. He holstered his phaser and headed for the shuttlepod bay. The MACO, Corporal Moody, was there waiting when he arrived and Hoshi came just behind him with the captain and T'Pol. "Try to stay out of everyone's notice. We don't want a first contact just yet," Archer reminded them. 

"Your presence alone could cause irreparable damage to the culture's natural development," T'Pol added. "Use caution." 

Outwardly, Reed's expression didn't change at all, though, inwardly, he was rolling his eyes. There were times when T'Pol stated the obvious, and he wondered if she still thought humans were too impulsive for missions such as this. He nodded once in acknowledgement and turned sharply for the stairs down into the shuttlepod. Hoshi and Moody followed him down. Once inside the shuttlepod, Malcolm ran a standard check of all systems and looked over his shoulder to make sure his crew was ready. The launch bay door opened beneath them and, once Malcolm had clearance, he released the shuttlepod, which dropped down out of the belly of _Enterprise_ and into open space. 

From space, the planet had an appearance closer to Mars than Earth. While there were large bodies of water and areas of green vegetation, for the most part, the land looked arid and dry. Where Earth's continents were green with occasional deserts, this planet's were reddish-brown with occasional patches of green. Earth also had more cloud cover, more evenly spread over the planet. He vaguely wondered what the natives did for food with so little natural vegetation or cultivated crops--though it was hard to be certain if that was the case without a stronger signal from the sensors. They'd know more when they entered the atmosphere. 

A small, yellow light blinking in the periphery of his vision caught his attention and he checked the helm console. "Coming up on the magnetic field," he warned. "This could get a little rough." The shuttlepod began to buck and shake like an old airplane hitting turbulence in the sky. He had expected that and managed to keep the shuttlepod on course easily enough. What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the red light that started flashing on his console as the shuttlepod leveled off and gave one final, violent buck. Or when that light abruptly winked out, along with all the other lights in the shuttlepod. "We've lost power," he stated, trying to remain calm. Too many thoughts ran through his head. Why they had lost power was chief among them. He closed his eyes for one second, ordering his mind to slow down. He needed to think, but mostly he needed to act. 

"Ensign Sato," he ordered, "try your communicator. Contact _Enterprise_." She didn't reply but he heard her communicator snap open and her soft voice trying the call. 

"Shouldn't we have emergency power, sir?" Corporal Moody asked. 

"I can't reach them, sir," Hoshi reported. 

"Take the helm, Ensign." Malcolm answered, rising from his seat. "Then both of you, strap in and stay put unless I order you to go somewhere." He couldn't see her move, but he felt Hoshi's hand on his shoulder as she brushed past him on his way aft. "I'm going to see if I can get us some power." He felt along the compartments over where Hoshi had been, counting as he went. He stopped at five and opened it, pulling out a small tool kit, and then continued toward the back of the shuttlepod. Once he reached the aft bulkhead, he dropped to the deck, feeling for the edges of the hatches, and hoping he would pick the right one. Though he couldn't see anything as he opened one, he closed his eyes, trying to see in his memory the way the components inside should feel to his hands. He was relieved then to find that they did. But only slightly relieved. The temperature was rising in the shuttlepod, and he could feel sweat on his brow. He didn't have a lot of time. 

They had just cleared the interference when the power had shut down. That one last buck had to have been something else. Without the sensors he couldn't say what it was, but he knew where it was. Just below the magnetic field in the planet's upper atmosphere. Which meant, of course, they were caught in the gravity well of the planet. And the shuttlepod was descending. 

* * *

Archer sat up straight in his seat just as she said it. "Captain," T'Pol called calmly, "we have lost contact with the shuttlepod." 

The bridge had been monitoring the shuttlepod's progress on the main viewscreen. Only one second before T'Pol spoke, the shuttlepod had winked out of existence. "What happened?" he asked, still staring at the screen. "Is the magnetic field keeping us from seeing it?" 

"I do not believe so," she replied. "The shuttlepod was sufficiently near to allow us to scan it below the field. We should have been able to see it for three point seven more minutes." 

"What _are_ you scanning just below the field?" Archer asked, hoping she wouldn't say debris. 

T'Pol was watching her console, but she dropped her eye brows suddenly and pivoted to take a closer look. "There is something there," she replied. 

"Debris?" It was out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to stop it. 

"Nothing that large," T'Pol replied, unaware that the rest of the bridge crew had turned to her for an answer. "I recommend sending a probe, slowly, and tethered to the ship." 

"Sir," Travis said, without taking his eyes off the viewscreen, "if they were in or under the magnetic field and lost control, they may not have much time before the gravity pulls them in." 

Archer decided quickly. "Launch a probe." He turned to Chief Lee covering the tactical station in Lieutenant Reed's absence. "Catch it and lower it just beneath the interference layer." 

Lee nodded, and Archer counted the seconds as T'Pol programmed the probe. Finally, the probe was lowered. "Put it onscreen," he ordered. 

The forward viewscreen filled with wide bands of streaking color and then cleared for a moment. The probe stopped its descent and the planet was visible in front of them. There was no sign of the shuttlepod, or anything else at this altitude to the planet. Then something flashed across the screen and was gone again. 

"What was that?" Archer asked. "Back it up and slow it down." 

The image obediently replayed and static filled the screen for two seconds. " _That_ " T'Pol reported, "is what I was scanning. It appears to be some form of radiation." 

"Bring it back up-to-date," Archer ordered, and the screen shifted slightly to show the planet once more. "And keep trying to raise the shuttlepod." The screen flashed again. 

"It's effect is intermittent," T'Pol explained, "It appears every three point two minutes, on average." 

Archer's stomach tightened. He had to ask. "Could our shuttlepod have run into that radiation?" 

T'Pol consulted the ships logs. "By my calculations, taking into account their known velocity, yes." 

The tightness in Archer's stomach dissolved, leaving a sick, heavy feeling behind. "Did it destroy the shuttlepod?" he asked quietly. 

"There is no debris to suggest that," T'Pol repeated. "I would suggest we scan the planet in more detail and in the vicinity of the shuttlepod's likely trajectory." 

Archer just nodded and T'Pol tapped her console. "Chief Lee, please release the probe on my mark." She waited for the next flash on the screen. "Mark!" The probe dropped down toward the planet and she explained, "I have sent instructions for the probe to orbit the planet once and then return to the ship. It will inform us if it senses the shuttlepod." 

Then they all waited. There was still no response from the shuttlepod. Or the probe. After thirty minutes, the probe returned and T'Pol guided it back to the ship. The bridge was quiet. They all knew the shuttlepod would have crashed into the planet's surface by now, or burnt up in its atmosphere. "Downloading the data now," T'Pol reported softly, and they waited again. After a few minutes, T'Pol lifted her head. "The shuttlepod is not on the planet's surface," she finally reported, "however, I am reading a trail of radiation descending from the shuttlepod's last known position to a steppe on the northern continent you see on screen." 

"The shuttlepod descended," Archer repeated, putting the pieces together, "but it didn't land? Or crash? Is it possible it went down in a body of water? The radiation trail may have drifted in the atmosphere." 

"I will have to study the probe's data in further detail," T'Pol admitted. "Perhaps I can filter the data with material components of the shuttlepod that should not occur on the planet below." 

Archer's stomach tightened again. He hated waiting when his crew were in danger. To T'Pol, he just nodded, and she left the bridge for her science lab. Carstairs was sitting in for Hoshi at Communications. "Keep trying them," he ordered, "but not verbally. Use Morse code and aim wide. Someone used it to contact us, maybe we can contact him if not our people." 

* * *

The lights came up, and Malcolm almost smiled in relief. The consoles lit up just after. "Sir!" Hoshi called. He could hear the fear in her voice and when he turned toward the bow, he could see why. "Lift the nose!" he ordered. 

"Helm's not responding," she reported quickly. "Neither are the engines. We're going to crash." 

Malcolm took a breath. He had known that was likely. More than likely. Lights took a lot less power than engines and major systems. There was still time though, he hoped, to try and keep the shuttlepod in one piece. 

"What can I do, sir?" the MACO asked as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. The heat was becoming unbearable. 

"We need to get the nose up, lower flaps," Malcolm said, "slow our descent. There are manual overrides." He pointed to a panel on the port side just above Moody's head. "Flaps are there. Open it." As Moody obeyed, he went to starboard side and opened the opposite panel. "Hoshi," he said, "come here." 

She unbuckled her harness and jumped out of the chair. "When I give the mark," he told them both, "lift the handle and press down on the control underneath." He took the seat at the helm and buckled himself in. He put both hands on the joystick--as Travis called it--and called out, "Mark!" 

Suddenly the joystick became very heavy in his grip. It took both his hands to pull it back. His arms strained with the effort, but the nose did begin to rise. He just couldn't reach the control to align the flaps manually. "I can't align the flaps!" he called out through clenched teeth. 

Behind him, Moody threw off his straps. "Tell me where," he said. 

Malcolm wanted to tell him to sit down and strap in, but without Moody's help, they'd all die. "To my right. Red lever," he replied. "They need to go down." 

Moody moved up beside him and pulled the lever. The nose rose again, but the stick was still heavy. If Malcolm relaxed his grip at all the nose began to fall again. But it was getting harder and harder to hold. 

Moody was watching him. "You still need help, sir," he said. It wasn't a question. 

"We _are_ going to crash, Corporal," Reed told him. "We're just hoping we can live through it, which you won't do, if you're not buckled in." 

"Understood, sir," Moody replied. "But none of us will if you can't keep the nose up." 

They could no longer see the planet through the front window. Because they were too low. They saw an ocean, and beyond that, land. They were coming in fast. Reed just nodded. 

Moody moved behind him and reached over his shoulder's to put his hands on top of Malcolm's. And together they pulled. The nose edged up more and their descent slowed. But it was still fast. The ocean sped by below them and the landmass ahead was coming closer. Malcolm could now see the cliffs that lined the edge of it. But they were still high enough, he hoped, that they would clear them. A water landing might have been a better choice, but at their present speed they'd be over land before they dropped low enough to land. Besides, they didn't know what was in the ocean if the shuttlepod should somehow survive its impact with the water. There were things on Earth that would eat shipwreck survivors, so it wasn't too hard to imagine the same could happen here. Besides, he couldn't bear the thought right then of landing in the middle of an ocean without so much as a life jacket. Just the thought of all that water sped his heart rate even faster. _Land,_ he told himself. _We're going to miss the ocean anyway._

Beads of sweat stung his eyes, but he couldn't move a hand to wipe them away. Neither could Moody. He was straining hard as well. Malcolm wondered if his fingers would be broken if they all survived. They ached terribly from the strain of the stick and the pressure of Moody's hands on top of them. 

The shuttlepod skimmed over the cliffs with an extra four hundred feet or so to spare, and Malcolm couldn't hold back the small sigh he felt as the water was left behind. There were trees here and they passed by in a brownish-green blur below them until only the brown remained. Shrubs, Malcolm guessed, short vegetation. They were over the plains. Three hundred feet. Something white was in front of them, and Malcolm realized it was a city. Fortunately, there did not appear to be many tall buildings. _Maybe no one will look up,_ Malcolm thought, but he kept that remark to himself. 

The shuttlepod streaked past the city, at some points only fifty feet or so above the tops of the buildings. They were one hundred and fifty feet up now and back in the open, streaking over the plains. Short brown bushes spotted the reddish ground as far as Reed could see. As they dropped lower he could see boulders interspersed here and there which might make the landing even more rough than it was already going to be. _At least it's not trees,_ he thought. Brush wouldn't be a problem, though the boulders could prove disastrous. 

They were descending faster now, though their forward motion was slower. At seventy-five feet, Reed could just make out a line of green at the far edges of the horizon. They wouldn't make it there, but hopefully they might be close enough to walk in a few days' time. If they survived the landing, of course. 

"Fifty feet!" Reed called out. "Hoshi! Crash position. Buckle up, cover your head, and put it between your legs." Moody was still helping him hold the stick, though he was kneeling now, his arms felt like another harness holding him into the chair. Malcolm could feel the strain in those arms. His fingers and hands, beneath Moody's, were beyond the point of pain. They were a bright red flare in the edge of his perception as his focus stayed on the land in front of them. "Brace yourself however you can," he told Moody. 

"Already there, sir," Moody replied through gritted teeth. Malcolm could feel his shoulder's digging into the back of the chair. 

If any of them survived, Reed wanted Moody to get a medal for his sacrifice here. As much as he hoped Moody would survive, he felt in his gut that he would not. "Twenty feet," Malcolm called. "Brace for impact." 

The stern hit first, which was a good sign, he supposed. It meant they'd gotten the nose up. But the impact jarred the shuttlepod violently enough to break Moody's hold on the stick. And any good luck they'd had ran out quickly from then on. Moody was thrown to the rear of the shuttle and Malcolm heard him grunt when he hit the bulkhead. Without Moody's hands, Reed's hands simply couldn't hold that stick anymore. It flew forward out of the grasp of his aching fingers. Malcolm didn't give them a second thought. The nose dropped and he crossed his arms over the console and tucked his head as well as he could. It sounded like thunder, a long, constant rumble as the shuttlepod slid across the land, tearing up shrubs and digging itself into the hard clay ground. Each time it hit a boulder, the shuttlepod threatened to tear him out of the seat as it wrenched this way then that. 

There was nothing more that Malcolm could do. He closed his eyes, just waiting for it to end. He heard a screech of metal and a low roar, almost like a scream, and then he felt a hot wind and a sudden forward lurch. Somehow, above all that, he heard Hoshi scream and it felt like a needle stabbing him in the chest. He lost all sense of equilibrium and everything went black. 

* * *

"You said you needed my help?" Trip asked as he stepped into T'Pol's lab. 

She didn't bother looking up from her work when she replied. "Yes, I would like your thoughts on a hypothesis I have been working on. I am attempting to isolate the sensor data on the intermittent radiation burst recorded by the probe." 

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked. He was curious about that, too. He had, of course, heard about the shuttlepod's disappearance, but he refused to think that the shuttlepod had been destroyed or that Malcolm and Hoshi were dead. The MACO, too, as he was with them, but Trip didn't know him personally. Malcolm and Hoshi were friends. 

"I've isolated the frequency of the wavelength," T'Pol reported as she stepped away so that he could see. 

Trip squinted a bit at the data in front of him. He didn't recognize anything in it. It was no radiation he was familiar with. 

T'Pol reached up and changed the display. Now there was an overhead view of a fairly barren stretch of land. Trip didn't see anything too interesting about it. "I have increased the sensor resolution," T'Pol said. She pressed a panel and the scene changed, zooming in. Features in the land's topography were more visible. "The shuttlepod intersected with the radiation burst and trailed the radiation through the atmosphere. It dissipated as the shuttle descended, but it can still be seen faintly in this area, the projected landing site for the shuttlepod." 

"There's no shuttlepod," Trip said, frowning. He rather wished there was. 

"Not now," she said. She changed the display again. "There is a higher concentration of carbon in the soil at this location," she said as she pointed to a depression in the ground, "than in the area surrounding it. Except, in this direction." She trailed her finger back along the path of the radiation trail. "It ends here, seventy miles from a native city in the south." Trip could see a shallow trench in the ground where she pointed, becoming shallower the further from the depression. 

"Okay," he offered, growing impatient. He didn't want to put together the pieces of her puzzle. He was afraid of what they meant. 

"The radiation trail grows stronger exponentially as it radiates out from the highest concentrations of carbon." 

"But the carbon increases as you go toward the depression." He could see that, but did not know how it was relevant. It made sense that if the shuttlepod intersected with the radiation, it would dissipate as it descended, leaving a trail, and that the carbon in the soil would increase as. . . . No, he didn't want to go there. But there it was, nonetheless. "You're saying the shuttlepod crashed there," he accused, not meaning to take it out on her. 

"That is my hypothesis," she confirmed. 

"But there's no debris," he argued pointing. The depression was covered in shrubs and weeds just as much as the area around it. There was no sign of an explosion beyond the depression itself. A crash would likely mean fire, damage, debris, and twisted wreckage. There was no such thing in the scan. 

"There was," T'Pol said. And in her calm, Vulcan demeanor Trip almost missed what she meant. 

"Was?" he repeated. "There's another piece you aren't showing me yet." 

She flipped the display back to the radiation burst. "I have seen this before," she said, "though in smaller quantities." She picked up a scanner off the counter. "Come with me." 

She led him out of the lab and he followed her dutifully. He didn't like the idea that the shuttle had crashed but her enigmatic "there was" had given him some small bit of hope. Either that or he was just too curious to let go of the puzzle now. She stopped in front of a door with a security lock on it. Daniels' quarters. She opened the scanner and made a scan. Then she handed the device to him. 

And he saw it. Compared to the burst, this was miniscule, but the scanner had sensed the same particles behind this locked door as what the probe had sensed in the burst. "Time travel?" he asked, not realizing he'd said it out loud. 

" _That_ " she said, more pointedly than before, "is my hypothesis. These are chronoton particles, for lack of a better term. While the Vulcan Science Academy denies the possibility of time travel, I have had to yield my own beliefs to that possibility. I have been to your world in the past. The captain claims to have been to the future. I have been using my free time to study this phenomena." 

Trip nodded. "You think the shuttle crashed in the past," he said, finally putting the pieces together. "That's why there is no debris, but there is an increase in carbon along the path of the crash, ending in the depression." He was beginning to feel depressed himself. "How far in the past?" He breathed. 

"I have not yet determined that," she replied. They were both quiet for a moment, and she must have sensed what he was feeling. "We do not have any evidence to assume that the shuttlepod's crew were killed in the crash," she said. 

"We don't have any evidence they survived either." Trip rubbed his hand through his hair. "What does the radiation trail have to do with it all? You made a point of its exponential increase as it goes away from the dep--" he took a deep breath and then said it, "--the crash site." 

"The probe began its descent along the same trajectory initially," T'Pol replied. "At the point closest to the interference layer, the particle density is highest. Its exponential decay rate does not suggest that it simply dissipated as the shuttlepod descended. I hypothesize that we can calculate the instant the shuttlepod crashed by the drop-rate in particle density." 

There was still another piece missing. He could feel it. "Why?" 

"Because those particles closest to the interference layer are closest to the present." 

And then it clicked. Sometimes things were just like that with Trip. He could study and test and hypothesize all day long and then sometimes it just clicked and he knew the answer, or where to look for it. "I need to hear that transmission," he told her and started to walk away. 

Now she was the one asking questions. "Why?" She caught up with him and matched his stride. 

"Because if _my_ hypothesis is right," he replied, "we do have evidence that they're alive." 

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Two**

The shuttlepod finally stopped skidding, but Hoshi was afraid to move. Her chest and stomach hurt from the pull of the harness but she was still in her chair. She could feel it beside and behind her. Slowly, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. It was so quiet now where it had been deafening before. She didn't think she would ever forget that sound. She turned her head toward the rear of the shuttlepod and saw open sky and land. And wreckage. The shuttlepod had turned on its side and broken open. She saw Corporal Moody in front of what used to be the rear bulkhead. She turned toward the front and saw Lieutenant Reed almost in silhouette against the window at the bow. He was slumped forward in his chair at the helm with his arms and legs hanging limp. One of his arms was crooked. Blood dripped slowly from his finger tips to the starboard bulkhead, which was now the floor. 

She hoped they were both alive. She felt terribly alone here in the quiet. She moved her arms, testing them. Then she unbuckled the harness and grunted when she fell onto the console, which was now below her chair, hurting her ribs even more. She took a moment to get her breath and then tried to stand. She fell again when she realized she was still tangled in the harness. She twisted out from within it and stood up. Her legs were shaking but she felt that was just nerves. They didn't hurt, so she doubted they were wounded. She held her hand out to the wall--the ceiling--as she stumbled toward the bow. 

"Lieutenant," she called, though what came out was more of a whisper. Her throat was raw and painful though she didn't remember screaming. Reed hadn't moved. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Lieutenant," she called again, and this time her voice worked. He was still hanging motionless in his seat and she began to fear he was dead. She took a few unsteady steps toward him. "Lieutenant!" 

And he moved. He pulled his arms up a little and shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. Hoshi's legs felt more solid with those movements, and she navigated past the spilled supplies and ducked under the other seat even as she stepped over her own. "Lieutenant," she said, more softly, not wanting to startle him. 

"Ensign!" he called back. "Are you hurt?" 

"Not much," she told him, deciding it didn't really matter. He was wounded, too. 

"Moody?" Reed said, and she knew what he was asking. She turned to the back of the shuttlepod and the open air there. She could see him there by the wreckage just as before. He hadn't moved and he didn't when she called out to him. 

She took another step closer, and, as she did, she moved out of the meager light coming from inside the shuttlepod so that her shadow was no longer blocking her view of him. And now she could see the blood on his face, the gash that had opened his belly. Her hand came to her mouth and she stifled a sob and the urge to vomit that suddenly hit her. She turned back to the overturned shuttlepod and hurried back to her only companion now, Lieutenant Reed. 

She found him sitting on the floor below his seat, and she wondered how he'd managed to get himself out of the harness without hurting his arm even worse. He was holding his crooked right arm tightly with his left hand. "He's dead?" he asked. 

She tried to answer but her answer came more as a sob than a coherent word. 

He nodded, leaving his head down. "It would appear," he said, "that we've capsized." She could see his shoulders shaking and knew he was in pain. 

"In a manner of speaking," she replied, moving closer to him again. "A Navy manner of speaking." 

"Do you think my father would be proud?" he joked. 

"Very," she replied in all seriousness. "We're still alive." She caught herself. "Except Moody." 

She reached him and touched his shoulder. "Are you hurt?" She realized instantly that it was a stupid question. 

"Only a little," he replied, turning his head to look at her. There was blood on his face, but not much. He tilted his head toward his arm. "I'm going to need you to help me with this." 

"How?" she asked, in a whisper again. She didn't even want to look at his arm. It was lying unnaturally in his lap. 

"Find the medical kit and then come around here in front of me," he said, and she wondered how his voice could be so calm when he was obviously in so much pain. When she didn't move, his mouth crooked up in a little smile. "That's an order, Ensign." 

And she obeyed and began sifting through the spilled and broken contents of the shuttlepod's compartments. She found the kit still sealed and saw a small piece of flat metal that might serve as a splint. She picked them both up and went back to him, crawling over his legs to sit in front of him with her back to the ceiling. 

He started to work on his sleeve as he waited for her to get settled. His left hand shook as he unbuttoned his cuff and pulled back the zipper. The fabric caught on the bit of bone there, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. 

She opened the medical kit and found a small vial with a needle on it. The label said it was morphine and should be injected into the patient's thigh. "Morphine?" she asked, wondering if it was enough to decrease the pain, but not so much as to make him unconscious or incoherent. She needed him. 

He nodded, and she obeyed. She broke the cap off and pushed the needle into the lieutenant's thigh. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair. His shaking stopped and he took deeper breaths. Hoshi's became faster and shallower. Moody was dead and Reed was unconscious. She was alone. 

Then he surprised her by opening his eyes. "Relax, Ensign," he said. "It's a first aid kit. For emergencies. It can't be too large a dose or the afflicted crew member wouldn't be able to keep his head. And we've both got to keep ours." He took a deep breath and sat up again. "But it helps. Let's get this over with." 

Hoshi sighed and slowly reached toward his injured arm. It looked worse from there. She carefully held his wrist as she pulled the sleeve back, biting back the bile that threatened to come up on her as she felt the slick blood there. But the sleeve gave way, and she pushed it back toward his elbow. 

He nodded his approval. "Thanks." 

"Um," she said, trying hard to remember her basic first aid training. "We need to clean it." She dug into the kit again and found a small bottle of sterile water which she then poured over the wound. Blood washed away from his arm to his pant legs, but there wasn't any pumping out of his arm. She dared to hope that meant he hadn't damaged an artery there. There was a medical tricorder in the kit so she got it out and scanned his arm. 

"Let me guess," Reed said. "It's broken." 

"Is that the morphine talking?" she asked in return. "I was just trying to see if you were going to bleed to death." 

"That was me trying to lighten the mood with ill-placed humor," he answered, meeting her gaze with his own. "But please do tell me if I'm going to bleed to death." 

She shook her head. "Though we should bandage it tight and put pressure on it anyway." 

He nodded. "But first things first. We've got to set it, and I've got a feeling that the morphine won't even negate it. So let's just get it over with. Put your foot on my right shoulder." 

She did as he said, careful to not kick his arm in the process. He rested his elbow on her knee and she could feel him shaking again. 

"Take my wrist," he instructed, "and pull hard until the bones pop back together." 

She swallowed the bile threatening once again to overcome her. But she didn't move. 

"It's okay," he told her. "It's just broken. You can do this. So can I. But it will be worse for me the longer you wait." 

His eyes were locked on hers now, and she could see that he was in pain still, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. "Just do it quickly," he added. 

She didn't say anything but nodded and reached out for his hand with both of hers. 

"One fast movement," he coached as he put his other hand against her ankle. He closed his eyes and nodded his readiness. She pulled his arm straight as hard as she could, using her foot as leverage against his shoulder. In the silence that seemed to envelope the shuttlepod she thought she heard a pop as the bones slipped back into place. 

She looked at his face, pale in the dim emergency lighting. His jaw was clenched hard and his eyes closed. He took a few shaky breaths before he moved his hand away and she lowered her foot. 

* * *

Malcolm Reed's eyes were closed, but he could have sworn he could see the pain flaring red like fire in his arm radiating up to his shoulder and down to his fingertips. But she did well in spite of the uncomfortable task he'd given her and it was over quickly. The brightness of the pain dimmed a bit. "Tell me we got it," he pleaded in a whisper. He vaguely heard the tricorder and Hoshi's voice very quietly. Then he felt more pain as she wrapped a bandage tightly around his arm. 

After a few moments, he was able to open his eyes and look at her. "Thank you," he whispered. She just nodded back. She looked so frail there in the dim emergency lighting, with her hair disheveled and her eyes so wide with fear. They glistened with tears she was holding back. 

"You're right," he told her when he'd found his voice again. "We are still alive." He smiled and she smiled back releasing a nervous sigh and then her head dropped and her shoulders shook. She was crying. And he didn't blame her one bit. He touched her knee softly with his hand. But he let her cry for a moment as he looked around, assessing what he could see from his present position. 

The shuttlepod was turned on its side and the aft bulkhead had been completely torn away. He remembered hearing Moody's body thump against it when they first touched down. He didn't doubt now that it was as Hoshi said. Moody was dead. 

And so was the shuttlepod for all intents and purposes. It was beyond repair, at least here. It was possible Trip could have made something of it, either repairing or using it for parts, if it had been in the launch bay on _Enterprise_ , but they were far from _Enterprise_ now. They had only what they could salvage or find. There was no way this little ship would fly again. And if that were true, it would have to be destroyed. 

It was highly unlikely that the crash had gone completely unnoticed by the native inhabitants, especially as they'd streaked through the sky over a city. No, someone would have noticed, and they would come to investigate it. He was sure of that. The shuttlepod would have to be destroyed to ensure that they wouldn't get a boost in their technological advancement that they weren't ready for. Maybe he and Hoshi could reach that tree line he'd seen before they crashed. They would take only what they needed to survive and destroy the rest. 

Realizing that his arm still needed something, Malcolm retrieved a pocket knife from one of his trouser pockets and cut one of the harness straps loose from the chair above him. He wrapped it around his neck and under his newly splinted arm. Funny, he hadn't remember her splinting it. Well, it wasn't worth spending much time on. They had bigger problems. He finished tying his makeshift sling with one hand and his teeth and then tried valiantly to forget he ever had a right arm. 

"I'm sorry," Hoshi breathed and Reed looked back at her. She was wiping the tears from her face. 

"No need," he told her. "This is a traumatic event. It happens." 

She shuddered and Reed suddenly realized that he was cold as well. The air had cooled with the night and the lack of friction now that the shuttlepod was still. "How long was I out?" he asked, wondering how much more of the night they had. 

Hoshi shook her head. "Not long. A few minutes, I think." 

Reed nodded back and tried to remember their trajectory and the position of the planet relative to its sun. "I think we have a few hours until dawn," he said. "We need to destroy this shuttlepod and make for the trees. With any luck, we'll be able to live quietly in those woods until help comes." 

Hoshi's eyes widened in alarm. "Destroy it? How will they find us?" 

"The same way we were going to find our mysterious caller, I suppose. We can't take it with us, Hoshi," Malcolm told her. "The people on this planet are going to wonder what came down tonight. They'll come here and they'll pick it apart. We can't give them this technology. And I don't think we want to give them our bodies to pick apart either. _Enterprise_ can still scan for us if they can get a probe below the interference. They might be able to avoid whatever we hit. They can come for us." 

She dropped her eyes, but nodded. 

"Help me up?" he asked. 

Hoshi wiped her face one more time and then crawled back over his legs and stood up. Careful not to touch his hands, she held his good arm as he got his own feet underneath him, stooped though he was because of the chair. She didn't let go even after they'd gotten completely out of the wreckage, and Reed guessed she didn't realize it. She needed the support as much as he did. She stopped in front of what was left of the aft bulkhead and Corporal Moody's body. "What about him?" she asked softly. 

"We destroy his body with the shuttlepod," he answered. "I don't want anyone dissecting him if they should find his body." 

She turned to face him. "Can't we bury him?" 

"They could dig him up, Hoshi," he reminded her. "Or a scavenger could." 

She was quiet for a moment, but she must have understood now the necessity of it. "And how will we destroy it?" 

"Destroying it shouldn't be too much of a problem," he said. "We can rig the engines to blow, overload a phaser near the fuel tanks. We'll manage. There are any number of ways." He offered her a smile. "Fortunately, blowing things up is a hobby of mine." 

She didn't smile back, and he figured she was still too caught up in the trauma of it. But she surprised him by releasing his arm and moving away from him. "We'll need to see what we can take with us." She was finally pulling herself together, realizing that she was not just a victim but a survivor and a Starfleet Officer. 

He nodded and they returned to the shuttle, opening every panel and cabinet. Hoshi remembered the medical kit but gasped and grabbed her side as she bent to pick it up. "Where are you hurt, Ensign?" he asked. 

"I'm fine," she answered quickly, moving quickly to put the medical kit back in order. 

"Hoshi," he tried again, softer. 

She sat the kit down and touched her ribs on her left side. "I think it was just because of the harness," she admitted. "But it's getting worse." 

Malcolm nodded. "Sit up straight and let me scan it. You might have broken a rib." 

She sat up, but took a shaky breath and held it. He flipped open the tricorder and scanned not only her ribs but everything else. Her ribs, though, appeared to be her only injury beyond bruises. "Two broken," he told her. He didn't mention that one of the broken ribs was dangerously close to puncturing a lung. He had no idea what to do for her. He knew that broken ribs were generally bound, but he thought they'd have to be set first and he wasn't sure how to do that or even if he could with a broken arm. Even if he could, would the binding push that rib further in toward her lung? He couldn't risk that. He snapped the tricorder shut. "I don't know that I can do anything about it without making it worse. We can give you a dose of that morphine though." 

She nodded and relaxed her posture as he handed her one of the little vials. "We should take it with us," she suggested. There were only four vials left, so Malcolm nodded and put them in his pocket. 

"Two more for each of us" he said, "so we'll have to ration it." She then turned the tricorder on him again, happily finding no more serious injuries than his arm. It ached tremendously and, though it had been put back into place, it felt loose and insecure, even with the splint and sling. 

"You hit your head," she said, not looking up from the device. 

"Maybe," he replied. "I don't remember, but now that you mention it, I do have a headache." 

"Nothing broken," she reported, closing the scanner again. "Well, nothing else. I don't suppose I can do anything for you head." 

As they went back to their scavenging, Malcolm cautioned her to be careful, especially when bending over or carrying things. They both went back to seeing what they could salvage and what might be used to make a bomb. Malcolm retrieved the tools and the kit he had used earlier to restore partial power, while Hoshi found some portable oxygen tanks. They also found some baseball caps, emergency rations, and three packs of water. Malcolm removed Moody's phase pistol from his holster and the grenades from his belt, while Hoshi pulled out two blankets. 

"Just one," Malcolm told her. "Less to carry. There's a desert between us and those trees. We won't want to be carrying much." 

She nodded and put the other blanket back inside the gutted hull of the shuttlepod. Finally, they were ready. They'd decided to take only one communicator and no weapons. If they were found, he didn't want phaser technology introduced on this planet. The communicator was a risk, but neither wanted to give up on contacting the _Enterprise_ completely. They took the water and food rations wrapped in the one blanket. All that was left, then, was to move Moody's body into his temporary tomb. And destroy the lot of it. 

* * *

It was a fantastic explosion, she had to admit. Hoshi wasn't as interested in pyrotechnics as Lieutenant Reed obviously was, but even she could appreciate this one. He'd somehow delayed the detonation long enough that they could be far enough from the blast. After they'd walked a hundred meters, he stopped her and turned around. "Get down," he said, and they both dropped to the dusty ground. And for a brief moment the dark sky lit up brightly with the deafening blast that shook the ground even that far. And yet, even at that distance--which wasn't all that far, she figured, when a shuttlepod was exploding--no debris larger than ash particles fell down on them. She could feel the heat though, as the hot wind brushed past her hair. And then it was over. The cool night air returned, and the lieutenant helped her up from the ground. As she lifted her bundle, she noted how the shuttlepod was already just smoldering, a much smaller black, smoking mass against the coming dawn on the horizon. 

"That turned out quite well," Reed stated quietly. "Do you remember," he asked, still keeping his voice low and his eyes on the wreckage, "the story of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in America?" 

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She admired the explosion but thought of Corporal Moody and now of the thousands that had died that day. Through all the changes that had taken place on Earth, that event was never forgotten and was taught in every school. 

"The crashed planes produced a fire so hot," he went on, "that those on the floors where the planes hit were vaporized immediately. Nothing left of them." He was silent for a heartbeat. "That's what I wanted for Moody. Nothing left for them to find and defile. When we get back, I'm going to see to it he gets a commendation." 

Hoshi still couldn't bring herself to speak. She just nodded and watched as the wreck fell in on itself. It was a fantastic explosion. 

And then they were walking away again, toward the tree line Reed had seen as they crashed, but that they couldn't see here on the ground. Her side hurt but she tried not to show it. She didn't doubt Reed's arm hurt worse, and complaining wouldn't help anyway. They had to ration the morphine until she could get back to sickbay. They walked in reserved silence the rest of the night, and Hoshi wondered if the lieutenant's thoughts were the same as hers. Why didn't _Enterprise_ try to contact them? 

Dawn slipped over the horizon, the sun rose warm in the sky, and still the communicator was silent in Reed's pocket. "How far were those trees?" she finally asked, looking up at him from under the brim of her cap. Her legs were tired, but she didn't want to stop until she reached the relative safety of the trees. She also remembered the stories of the alleged UFO crash at Roswell in the twentieth century and the alien autopsy hoax movies that were created. As the immediacy of the crash and the sadness of Moody's death settled into the back of her mind, she was left to just the monotony of putting one foot in front of the other. And so her mind had wandered down those maudlin bits of history. Only they weren't so maudlin now. It hit her with a realization strong enough to override her weariness. She and Reed were the aliens and this was Roswell. 

* * *

Malcolm Reed felt the weight of command, even with only one subordinate. Her life depended upon his decisions, and, presently, his sense of direction. Fortunately, he'd thought enough to recognize which direction they were going when the shuttlepod came down and wasn't relying on just the way the wreck was pointing when it finally stopped. There at the end, it had changed direction so many times, Malcolm felt a little queasy just remembering it. But knowing they'd been headed north before the crash meant that north was the direction of the trees and so north they would go. By shuttlepod, it might only have taken minutes to reach the tree line. By foot, however, injured and weary, it would take at least a day, maybe two. And now that the sun had risen, the days were promising to be hot and dry. 

Within just a few hours, they were both sweating. Their steps became shorter and clumsier. They took a break at noon, resting for half an hour under the silver-colored blanket which reflected back the sun's rays, allowing them a small respite from the heat. They split one ration pack between them and had two sips of water each. It wasn't enough. Already that was one of his chief thoughts. Water. He wondered if just knowing they were in a desert made him thirstier. But his survival training, and the weight of command, kept him from taking more than those two sips. Hoshi was his responsibility and he felt guilty that he couldn't do more for her, and that he hadn't been able to keep her safe on this mission from the start. He'd lost one of his charges in the crash, and now the only one remaining to him was injured, wandering a desert on a potentially hostile foreign world. 

And that his one remaining charge should be Hoshi Sato anguished him even more. He watched her as she took a short nap under the shade of the blanket. Her face, usually so unblemished and clean, was sooty and moist with perspiration. Her hair, so soft and beautiful, whether put up for duty or left long in her off hours, was dirty now, tangled and whipped out of her ponytail by the wind. 

He remembered their first voyage and how Hoshi had been worried about vibrations that no one else could feel or hear. How she struggled to overcome her fear of spaceflight. He knew she felt embarrassed by her earlier missteps, but he had admired her from the start. Here was someone who would not have been unhappy to spend the rest of her life on good green land, teaching the brightest of students languages that most humans couldn't even pronounce. Space exploration wasn't a necessity for her the way it was for the captain. It wasn't her calling. It scared her the way a ship on an ocean scared him. Courage, Malcolm knew, wasn't the absence of fear, however, but the will to act in spite of it. The lure of languages humans had never heard before was stronger than Hoshi's fear of space. She was afraid, but she went anyway. 

He smiled when he thought of his birthday and the pains she had gone through to find out that he liked pineapple. How he had misinterpreted her easily-misinterpreted invitation to a meal with her. Regulations. If it hadn't been for regulations, he might have followed that misinterpretation a little further along. She was beautiful, even now, dirty and covered in sweat. Were it not for regulations, and that weight of command, he would have allowed himself to try and get to know her better. Still, even within the bounds of those regulations, he'd grown close enough to call her a friend, to feel the sting personally when the Reptilian Xindi had abducted her from the bridge. He saw her sleeping now and remembered how young and fragile she'd been when she'd woken up after her rescue. She looked that way now, and his heart ached with guilt. He should have protected her better. 

When he woke her to carry on again, he carefully smothered all those defeatist thoughts and put on his mask of calm but cautious professionalism. Hoshi had enough to worry about without adding himself to the list. She sat up, pressing her hand to her side. They both winced at the brightness and heat as they lowered the blanket. They both quickly replaced their caps on their heads, allowing them some shade, but Malcolm's head had already started pounding harder on his skull. Not for the first time, he wished someone had thought to make sunglasses part of the standard Starfleet uniform. Resigned to the headache, he said nothing as he helped Hoshi place their few supplies in the center of the blanket. He stood and offered her his good arm, grime-covered as it was. Hers were no cleaner and she took it. As she stood, she tucked the blanket to her chest and then they were walking once more. 

"You'd think they would have come looking for us by now," Hoshi commented. 

" _Enterprise?_ " he asked. 

"The natives." 

* * *

They walked quietly for several more hours, though Hoshi wouldn't have minded some conversation to help pass the time and keep her mind off the heat and the bright overhead sun. The lieutenant, however, was never much for conversations, not with her anyway. She was sure Trip got more out of him since they had become quite good friends. Hoshi knew Lieutenant Reed counted her as a friend as well, and it was a friendship she valued--never so much as the day she awoke after being rescued from the Xindi reptilians. 

He was, after all, a quiet man who kept much of his private life, well, private. Which left only work and small talk for casual conversation. Hoshi knew there was more to him than work and small talk. She'd seen it that day and on a few other occasions. Sure, explosives were his hobby and tactics his expertise, but he could also be gentle, supportive, loyal, and protective. His professionalism ensured her that--even though he'd seen her topless on one occasion--she could trust him not to step out of bounds toward her. 

Still, she would have liked a little conversation. As it was, he walked silently beside her, always keeping her on his left side, where his good arm was. Once every hour, they stopped and tried to send a very short message to _Enterprise_ : SOS in Morse code. Yet, they had still never even managed to make a connection to the ship. So they kept walking. 

Hoshi wanted to strip off her jumpsuit. It was wet from collar to ankle from sweat and the dark fabric did nothing for the heat except to draw it in. Navy whites would have been better, she thought and turned her head to look at Malcolm, imagining how he'd look in a crisp officer's dress whites. _Dashing_ , she decided. He would fit in nicely in the Navy with the rest of the Reed men, and she wondered--not for the first time--why he had chosen space over the ocean and family tradition. 

She didn't figure he was likely to tell her so she kept the question to herself. And besides, the redness on his neck and ears reminded her why they should keep their uniforms on. They still had quite a few hours before the sun went down and she didn't want a full-body sunburn. Still, she unzipped it farther down the front, hoping at least for a cool breeze. 

They took another rest in the late afternoon, reasoning that they should continue walking at night. It would be cooler then and they'd be that much closer to the trees by morning. Once again, Malcolm stayed sitting as she laid down for a nap. "You should rest, too," she told him. 

"There may be predators," he replied. "Besides, my arm hurts too much to sleep." 

She knew he was lying about his arm. Her chest hurt, too, but she was exhausted. He was too, despite his words. Still, she knew he wouldn't sleep or even lay down until they reached those trees and relative safety. 

He woke her an hour later and, as she lifted the silvery blanket, she was relieved to see a reddened sky to the west. Sunset. But when she sat up a sharp pain stabbed through her chest, stealing her breath. She gasped and could only take small, shallow breaths as she waited for it to die down. 

"Hoshi?" Malcolm asked. His tone and the gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder conveyed his concern. 

"I'm okay," she gasped out, knowing it was as much a lie as when he'd said it. But there was nothing more either could do with the other until they both got back to Sickbay on _Enterprise_. 

It took another hour for the sun to set, and though it was now below the horizon, the temperature had not yet begun to cool off. Safe from sunburn now, she unzipped her uniform and shrugged it off her shoulders. Though her legs were still covered and she still had her shirt on, her upper body was much relieved, and she could even feel a slightly cool breeze blow softly across her shoulders. 

She noticed the lieutenant watching with what appeared to be an envious expression. "Would you like me to help you out of yours?" she asked, motioning to the make-shift sling. 

"If it weren't too much of a hassle, perhaps," he replied, letting his shoulders droop just a bit in his disappointment. "But it's only going to get colder, and then we'd have to go through the trouble of putting it on again." 

Hoshi stopped walking and waited for him to turn to her. "Well, you can at least unzip it," she said as she reached for the zipper at his left wrist, "and roll up your sleeve." Once it was unzipped she quickly rolled it back to his elbow. He smiled his thanks, and once she'd released his arm, unzipped his uniform top. 

"That does help a bit," he commented. Then he unzipped the pocket on his right shoulder and handed Hoshi the communicator. "It's about time for another try, don't you think?" 

* * *

Baezhu tapped his friend Kahrae on the shoulder. "What's that?" he asked. He pointed his longest digit at a bright object streaking through the sky. He'd come after his shift to visit with Kahrae in the few minutes before he went on duty. It was an odd friendship, as generally the different castes didn't mix unless their professions brought them together. Kahrae was a Cold Raptor while Baezhu was Lesser Winged. They had met professionally as they had both begun their training on the same day. 

Kahrae ducked his neck downward to peer out from under his long claws. "It's too fast to be an airship," he replied. They both waited silently for the length of two breaths as it passed overhead, clearing the tallest of the settlement's buildings by ten or twenty meters. 

"It _is_ an airship of some sort," Baezhu said. "It has wings and it's in the air." 

"We don't have any like that," Kahrae pointed out. "Besides it looks like it's going backwards and not leaving a trail." 

He couldn't argue with that logic. It was as if the airship--or whatever it was--was following a trail rather than leaving one behind. It was very strange. But it was gone beyond their range of sight before they could find any other clues. 

"There was a disturbance in Rihansu last night," Kahrae said, dropping his voice. "Command thought it was localized seismic activity." 

"You think it has something to do with the airship?" Baezhu asked. It didn't seem that it could. Rihansu was in the opposite direction. 

"That thing could have come from there." 

"Rihansu is a desert," Beazhu told him. "There's no facility for it to come from." 

"At least not one we know of," Kahrae held. 

* * *

Malcolm was beginning to get cold, and with his uniform sweaty, the desert night just seemed that much colder. Hoshi was kind enough to roll his sleeve down again, and he had helped her back into the top of her jumpsuit. Now they walked hand in hand, picking their way slowly through the darkness. Her grip was tight in his hand, and he wondered if that was due to fear or the pain in her ribs. They had taken another rest an hour before, and, once again, Hoshi had struggled to stand. But she did stand and she wasn't coughing up blood or anything, so Malcolm hoped that meant her broken ribs were staying clear of her lung or any other vital organs. 

It was like walking through an asteroid field, he felt. The stars in the sky did little to add to what meager light the moon gave off. He could just barely make out the rocks and low brush two steps in front of them, let alone the elusive tree line he'd glimpsed from the shuttlepod. Hoshi was quiet, concentrating on not tripping, he guessed. 

The continued silence on the communicator dampened their already dampened spirits. Malcolm kept glancing over his shoulder in all directions, hoping he could spot movement at the least, should any predators or natives come upon them. He only saw something once, and not because of its movement. But because of its eyes reflecting back the meager light from the stars. Whatever they belonged to, they never came any closer, always staying just at the edge of his vision. Until they thought to stop for another rest. 

They had no more than stopped walking before those eyes came closer and Malcolm could begin to make out the shape of the creature's body as it moved. Hoshi saw it then, because Malcolm was staring so intently. Those eyes were easily at the height of Hoshi's shoulders. If the creature had stood upright, it would have towered over both of them. Malcolm wondered if they'd made the right decision in not taking any weapons. 

He didn't take his eyes off the creature. "How's your throwing arm?" he asked Hoshi. 

"Better than yours," she answered quietly. "Rock?" 

He nodded and she slowly knelt to retrieve one. Her arm, as it turned out, was good and so was her aim. It struck the creature square in the shoulder, causing it to howl. But then, thankfully, it backed off. 

Hoshi whispered back at him, "Do you think it will come back?" 

He took her hand again. "Not if we keep moving. It would appear to be a cautious creature, maybe a scavenger, though I don't know why it would be so big. It's been following us for hours. It didn't come closer until we stopped." 

"So we keep going," she concluded, and they were off again, trudging through the night. 

By morning, their legs were like rubber, and their eyelids felt like lead. But the eyes were gone and there was no sign of the creature. While they both wanted to rest, they agreed it was best to keep going while it was still somewhat cool. 

The coolness didn't last, so after an hour or two of daylight, they both dropped slowly to their knees. 

"One hour," Reed told her, though by now, he probably didn't have to. 

Hoshi just nodded. "Why haven't they come? We flew right over a city. Surely someone looked up." 

Malcolm didn't have an answer. It was strange. When the Suliban and Klingon ships came to Earth, the authorities had converged on Broken Bow in less than an hour after the farmer lost his silo and the Klingon got shot. Their shuttlepod had crashed more than twenty-four hours--or a day at any rate--ago and still they had yet to see any sign of sentient natives. It was strange, like a reprieve they didn't deserve but desperately needed to take advantage of. 

"That's why we can only rest an hour," he told her. "They'll come. We just have to get lost in those trees before they do." 

Hoshi carefully laid herself down on her side on the rough ground. "What about you?" she asked, looking up at him. 

"What about me?" he asked in return, hoping to put her off. He was exhausted but he wouldn't sleep until he felt they were both safe in those trees. "I'm not sleepy." He could tell by her expression that she wasn't buying it. "Hoshi," he began again, "I'm responsible for this mission and that means that I'm responsible for our protection and safety until help comes." 

"And if it takes a week, you're still not going to sleep?" she challenged. "You're shaking." 

That, he had not expected. "Shaking?" 

She nodded. "Your left hand. Look at it. You're as exhausted as I am, maybe more." 

"It won't take a week to reach those trees," he told her, hoping that she'd take the compromise. "Once we can find a hiding place, we can take turns on watch." 

She eyed him suspiciously but was too tired to keep up the fight. "I'll hold you to it," she said finally, and then closed her eyes. 

* * *

The sun overhead was oppressive. The air was so thick it felt like walking through lava. And maybe that's what put the thought into her head. Whatever caused it, she felt like encouraging it, if for nothing else than to liven up the monotony of walking through a barren desert under a baking sun. 

So she said it, "Well, I could just pretend we're marching through Mordor." 

Reed stopped, but only for a second. "Mordor?" She worried for a moment that he might think she was being ridiculous or succumbing to the heat. "Well, which one of us is Frodo and which one's Sam?" he asked. 

She smiled. It was the last movie they'd shown on the last six movie nights, because it took that long to show all three extended films. "You don't happen to have an evil ring that can make you invisible, do you?" 

Reed handed her their bundle of supplies and then made a show of patting his pockets with his good hand. "Hmmm...must have left it in my other uniform." He then took the bundle back. 

"You _are_ the one carrying the supplies so maybe you're Sam," she said, smiling and almost forgetting the heat. 

"But I'm the senior officer," he argued, handing her the bundle again, "so maybe I should be Frodo." 

"Sam ends up being the hero, you know," she said, refusing the bundle. 

"Oh, true," he admitted as he dropped his arm back to his side. "Frodo would have been killed by the Orcs or eaten by Shelob. And Sauron would have got the Ring and covered the world in a second darkness. Still I don't want to be Sam. I'd rather be Legolas, the archer." 

Hoshi's smile widened as she looked over at him. "You sound like you've actually read the books." 

"Of course I've read them." 

Now Hoshi stopped. He stopped a few steps ahead of her and turned, letting the bundle go and holding his hand to his chest as she'd offended him. "I'm British!" he said. "It's required reading!" Then he turned and started walking again, leaving her to get the bundle. "What about you?" he asked. "Who's your favorite? Aragorn?" 

"Pippin," she replied, correcting him. "Though I admit that Elf looked very nice in the movies. And the way he said ' _Boe a hyn neled herain dan caer menig._ ' Very nice!" 

"Oh, I suppose you speak Sindarin now." 

"Of course," she replied happily. "I looked it up in the computer's library system. There's not enough for complete fluency though. Still, it's a beautiful language." 

Reed smiled. "I suppose you also learned Quenya and Anduniac." 

"And a little Black Speech on the side," she told him. "So you read _The Silmarillion_ , too? Anyway, you haven't said why Legolas." 

"Yes, I have," he argued. "He's an archer. He never missed a shot--" 

"--Except that guy with the fire." 

"Blame that on the script writers," Reed argued, more seriously than the rest of the conversation. He really _had_ read the books. "It didn't happen in the books. He never missed. Not even when he shot one of the Nazgul out of the sky. And even the Army of the Dead didn't phase him." 

Hoshi gave that some thought and it made sense. Legolas was one of the strongest warriors and Reed was the senior officer responsible for the security and defense of _Enterprise_. But then it was her turn. 

"So, why Pippin?" 

To her it was obvious. "He's the youngest, the most out-of-place in the fellowship, unprepared for what he'd find. In the end, though, he finds his strength, his place. He was meant to go on the quest." She paused and took a breath. It wasn't easy admitting her fears, but then Lieutenant Reed had been there to see it when she screamed at the sight of those bodies hanging from the ceiling. "He's like me." 

* * *

Kahrae was more alert than usual at breakfast, Baezhu noted. He was usually tired after a full night of guard duty in which nothing happened. Baezhu, himself, felt quite curious as to what could revive his nocturnal friend. It had to be something to do with the airship they had seen the evening before. 

"So?" Baezhu asked as he tucked the three worms from his hands into his mouth. 

"They saw it," Kahrae whispered, looking first over one shoulder than the other to be sure that no one nearby would overhear. "Colonel Gaezhur is hot to investigate. From what I heard though, they're confused about _where_ to investigate. The airship was going south, so that's where Gaezhur wants to go. But Doctor Bishtae insists on going north, into Rihansu." 

"The desert?" 

Kahrae nodded. "Seismic activity remember. From the reports, Bishtae thinks something crashed. There were two events two nights ago." 

"What about Air Control?" Baezhu asked. "What did they make of the airship?" 

"Nothing," Kahrae told him, taking a rodent from its small cage. It squealed once before Kahrae swallowed it down. "They couldn't find it. It was there for only a second and then it was gone. There wasn't even an air trail behind it, remember? Anyway, you'll probably know more about it than me before the end of your shift. What's playing at the cinema this morning?" 

Baezhu ran through the list of films. It was their tradition on Firstday, to go see a film after breakfast and before Baezhu's shift. Then Kahrae would go home and get some sleep before his shift began in the evening. 

"'Carune the Primate' is supposed to be good," Kahrae stated after hearing his choices. 

"You know I don't like science fiction," Baezhu reminded him. "I get enough science at work to know how ridiculous a sentient mammal is." 

"Well, no action films then," Kahrae said, choosing another rodent. "I'm sure we'll get enough of action if we go to war with Buftanis." 

"Comedy then?" 

Kahrae nodded and it was decided. All thought of the airship was put aside for the hours of camaraderie they had before duty separated them again. 

* * *

Despite the heat and the pain each of them felt, Hoshi felt their march through the desert to be almost pleasant now that light conversation kept them distracted somewhat. It was probably the most she had ever heard Malcolm Reed speak, even though she counted him a friend. Perhaps _The Lord of the Rings_ was such a neutral subject that he didn't feel he needed to hide anything. She remembered talking to his sister years ago in an attempt to find out his favorite food. Knowing that he didn't open up to his family had actually helped her feel more at ease around him, strange as that sounded. It let her know she needn't take his distance personally. It was just his way. And she did like a challenge. 

"Hoshi!" He stopped suddenly. "Look!" 

Hoshi lifted her gaze from the sandy ground beneath her feet. She turned her head to see what he was looking at. All she could see was more sand, more shrubs, more rocks. 

"On the horizon," he prompted. "The dark line." 

She looked again. There _did_ seem to be a dark line at the edge of the horizon. "The trees?" she asked, unable to keep the hope from her voice. 

"I believe so," he replied, " and if we keep going, we might just make it by late afternoon." 

Hoshi sighed in relief. She had felt all her exhaustion come back to her when they stopped. But if it meant an end in sight, she could will her legs to keep going. And her lungs to keep breathing. It was getting harder. Her ribs felt like a pair of knives thrust into her side and she could feel them scratch at the edge of each breath she inhaled. 

"Hoshi?" Malcolm asked, stepping closer to her. 

"I'm okay," she lied. "Let's go. I'm looking forward to a long night's sleep for a change." She took a few steps, but when he didn't follow, she turned back--too sharply, but she wasn't thinking about her ribs just then. "Look," she told him and pointed to the dust cloud on the opposite horizon. "I think they're coming." 

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long. I've actually had this written for quite sometime. But I was waiting on my beta. And he wasn't receiving my e-mails because I didn't have the server settings right. Then I was really busy after I received his beta comments that I didn't go over them until today. So here it is, chapter 3. 

* * *

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Three**

Colonel Gaezhur snarled and didn't care who heard him growl. The airship had gone south before it disappeared. Why then were they going north to the desert to chase after some elusive seismic event? It made little sense. Those Wingeds always thought themselves so smart but sometimes it seemed they had their heads in the clouds. 

Well, at least he had gotten his way in one respect. Two of the scientists were with him on this patrol. He made sure to put them in the open truck with as many of his men as he could put into it. Then he just smiled as they complained that they had no room for them to sit down properly, though his own men managed to find seats. Of course, it was a military truck, not designed for the winged ones. He had walked away chuckling quietly to himself. 

What was worse than Wingeds and their arrogance was finding out that they were right. It was the taller of the two (which was still shorter than any of the colonel's men) who had called the patrol convoy to stop, only to tell them to carry on, but slower. The three vehicles had then come to a stop near a blackened crater in the sand. It was large, he supposed, slightly larger than the Sky Force Air Control engineers (as scientific as one could get without having wings) had estimated the airship had been. 

On closer inspection--in spite of the scientists' wishes to investigate alone--the crater was lined with ash and small bits of charred metal. Some of it was still smoking. 

More intriguing still was the bit of bone one of his own men found more than twenty feet from the southern-most edge of the crater where they were standing guard. When the colonel took it and held it up, he found it was no bigger than the shortest bone of his shortest finger, yet it was nearly flat. But what part of what kind of being was it? 

Shehra roamed this desert but they were not sentient hunters. They had no fire, especially none that could burn so hot as this one must have. So this was not likely the bone of shehra prey. Lightning was rare in the desert, though it could set fires. But that could not explain the metal among the ash. No, this was some sort of technology destroyed. And the bone could be a piece of the one who made it. 

Gaezhur thought to crush it. It was probably part of a Buftanisian spy, crashed and killed here. The Wingeds had confirmed that this was the exact location of the seismic event two nights past. The airship seen yesterday may have been sent to look for him. This was just another provocation by those Buftanisians. War would come soon. Gaezhur was sure of it. 

"Colonel!" 

That was Major Zhenah, and if he cried out with such intensity, it was for a reason. Gaezhur handed the bone fragment back to the soldier. "Make sure _they_ get it," he ordered, pointing to the scientists still pecking and clucking over the ash in the crater. "Tell them to identify it." 

Then he left them to join the sizable group that was gathering around the major. They stepped back in respect of the colonel's rank, and Gaezhur now understood why the normally outstanding major risked insubordination by not rising. 

"There are four," Zhenah said, pointing. "Two smaller even than these." 

They were like nothing Colonel Gaezhur had ever seen, even in the hunting days of his youth in Rihansu. That these were tracks, he understood, but they were too small. Far too small. Only children and primates had such small feet. But these tracks were too smooth and rounded for a primate's feet and they walked also with their hands. There were no handprints here 

Gaezhur turned and saw slight traces of the footprints going back toward the crater. The heel though--at least it looked like a heel--showed the steps to be leading away from the crater. Two large prints--relatively speaking--and two smaller ones, side by side. No reptile, no primate, but two of something had survived. 

* * *

As hopeless as it seemed, and as painful as it was, they were running. The trees were still too far, but they were their only hope. Malcolm's arm throbbed with every jolt his legs caused. And Hoshi.... Hoshi was breathing too hard and clutching her chest. He'd failed her. 

He kept going over it in his mind as he ran. How might he have avoided the crash? How might he have better treated her wounds or gotten her to those trees sooner? Maybe they shouldn't have rested at all. No, that would have killed her just as easily. He couldn't find a way around the crash, no way to save Moody, no way to save Hoshi, no way to save himself. 

That was an idea. Not save himself. He could stop, divert them from following her. Maybe she could keep going. Maybe she would make it. 

Then she tripped. 

Malcolm stopped immediately and knelt down beside her, dropping their bundle of meager supplies. He couldn't help her much, with only one arm, but she managed to push up to her hands and knees. She was gasping for breath and when she coughed, Malcolm knew any luck they had had just ran out. 

She spat the blood in her mouth onto the ground as she pushed up to her hands and knees. "Go," she sobbed. "You can still make it." 

Malcolm just sat down beside her. "It's too far, Hoshi. And I can't leave you, anyway." 

"Can we fight?" She looked she was trying not to cry, but the way she was shaking, Malcolm knew that she was in real pain. The ribs had done as he feared. The scanner proved it. They'd pierced her lung. 

"Us against an entire world?" he asked in return. "Try and lie still, Hoshi. All we can do now is wait and hope they're friendly and excited to meet a couple of aliens." 

Beside him, Hoshi took shallow, quick breaths, coughing now in an effort to clear her lungs of blood. Even shallow, her breaths were shaky, telling him of her pain. He gave her their last dose of morphine and took her hand. She squeezed it hard and then laid down, resting her head on his leg. 

"I'm sorry," he told her. 

"Not your fault," she told him between breaths. "We crashed." 

That she didn't blame him didn't make him feel any better. He was the superior officer, responsible for everyone on this mission. And he had failed. He didn't believe for a minute that the natives would be friendly. Would Earth have been? There were rumors galore of alien autopsies and movies about alien invasions from the twentieth century. While there were series and movies about friendly aliens, it didn't alter the fact that if the Vulcans had shown themselves in 2001, they would likely have been spirited away and studied at some secret government facility, like the infamous Area 51 in America. 

Malcolm tried the communicator one last time and when it wouldn't connect, he closed it and buried it in the sand as deep as he could manage with one free hand. He hoped the natives wouldn't have any metal detectors. 

Malcolm had nearly died once before to protect a pre-warp culture from further contamination. He'd told the captain as much, before they had been taken away to be hung by the people that had found his lost communicator. He was willing to do the same again. He just wished Hoshi didn't have to die for it as well. He understood now why the captain had sought to bargain Reed's way out of their execution. 

He could see more than dust clouds now. Vehicles. Trucks of some sort. Two of them. One was smaller than the other, but they were both quite large. And they got larger as they drew near. 

"Stay silent," Reed told Hoshi. "Don't try to understand them or learn their language." He looked down at her, made sure she was looking up at him. "If you understand them, you can answer their questions," he said. "We don't want to answer their questions, Hoshi." 

She nodded and took his hand again. And they waited, watching the vehicles come closer and closer. 

* * *

Colonel Gaezhur had nearly gotten away with it. But Doctor Burha knew him too well. He always got grumpy when he was wrong. And he always wanted to take back the upper hand when he lost it. So when he'd tried to leave the crash site to follow the prints, Burha had made sure to jump on board the second truck, leaving Dr. Bishtae to continue investigating the crash site. 

No doubt Gaezhur thought the Buftanisians were behind the crash. The Raptors had one-track minds. But Burha realized this was much bigger than a downed spyship. This was historic! He _knew_ what they'd find at the end of footprints: aliens. He tried to imagine what kind of being posessed such feet as to make those prints. They were small, to be sure. Smaller than the Lesser Wingeds at least. They were also obviously bipedal. Beyond that he could only imagine. 

But nothing quite prepared him for what he saw. Mammals! And primates at that. This was going to make Bishtae's day! Maybe even his career. And Burha knew Bishtae would never let him forget it either. Bishtae had been saying there could be life on other worlds for years, and that said life might not be held to the same parameters as this world. He'd been something of a joke to many of his colleagues, Burha included. Sentient mammals! It challenged everything Burha had ever been taught. 

But there they were, right on the ground in front of him. True to his military mindset, Gaezhur had them surrounded. Burha ignored them, pushing through the circle of Raptors and pulled Gaezhur's weapon down. "Are you insane?" he asked. 

Gaezhur was speechless, not out of fear of Burha, the latter was sure, but by the phenomenon sitting before them. "This is incredible," Burha said, leaving the Raptor to his own thoughts to observe the creatures closer. 

They were a pair, bipedal, as he had surmised, and obviously sentient, as they had covered themselves with manufactured fabric. No other creatures outside of reptiles had been known to do that. And these were definitely not reptiles. Burha realized it was possible they were amphibious or even marsupial, but he was willing to stake his career on their being mammals. 

They were small, with dark hair on their heads and red skin on their faces. Their eyes were different colors, and Burha wondered if that was a sign of gender or caste. They could even be a mated pair. 

Buhra tilted his head and slowly stretched out an arm. He just had to know. He touched the face of the smaller one and the other tensed. Gaezhur pulled him back. "They could be diseased," he snapped. "We don't know anything about them." 

Buhra smiled. He couldn't help it. "But we do, colonel," he replied, "and it's just the beginning." He had discovered what he intended in touching them. Their skin was soft and pliant, and he was the first to ever touch an alien from outer space. 

* * *

Reed sat perfectly still, not wanting to provoke a violent reaction, though he couldn't help feeling protective when the smaller one had reached for Hoshi. He relaxed--barely--when he realized it was only curious. That one was different from the others. They were all reptilian, though nothing like the Xindi reptilians he had fought. They looked less humanoid and more like miniature dinosaurs in armor and labcoats. Still, they towered over him. Even the small one was approximately three meters in height. 

The others looked like classic predators: powerful legs, disproportionately small arms, and huge heads lined with very sharp teeth. The small one was far more birdlike, with a long, thin beak, thin legs and very long arms. Or, rather, wings. It reminded him of a pteradon, though the wings seemed too narrow to actually allow for flight. 

Beyond the fact that they were encircled by carnivorous, armed reptiles, the natives had not acted in a threatening manner. Reed allowed himself a small hope that they might be friendly after all. He just hoped they'd decide to be friendly quick. Hoshi didn't have a lot of time. 

The biggest of the predators--soldiers, Reed realized-- said something and several of the other soldiers motioned with their weapons that he and Hoshi should stand up. The pteradon apparently didn't like something about those orders as it began speaking again in a much less awestruck tone than before. Still, it was an argument the smaller one didn't seem to be winning. 

Reed stood and offered his good arm to Hoshi. It was hard for her. He could tell it hurt her to move. She was biting her lip to keep from crying out. When she suddenly gasped and collapsed again, it became obvious to their hosts as well. The pteradon seemed especially concerned. It barked something at the head soldier while pointing at Hoshi. One of the soldiers then realized Reed's arm was injured and pointed that out as well. 

The big soldier bobbed its head in what could have been a nod. It gave an order to the observant soldier who pulled a small device from a pocket on its armor. It tucked its head down and spoke into the device. They seemed content to wait so Malcolm sat back down with Hoshi, wishing over and over again that _Enterprise_ would find a way to transport them up. 

* * *

With that, they all waited, eyeing the two creatures with curiosity and not a little distrust. "They might still be spies," Gaezhur stated, breaking the uneasy silence. "There are likely more where they come from. They could be forerunners to an invasion." 

"I hardly think so," Burha huffed. "They look quite harmless to me. They are smaller and more delicate than we are, hardly a wise move to send such creatures down unarmed and undisguised here if an invasion was in the works. Besides, our satellites might have missed one small ship, but I doubt they would miss an invasion force. Really, Colonel, you should try and temper your suspicious nature with at least a touch of logic now and then." 

"And you should temper your science with caution," Gaezhur replied. "We don't know why they are here. We don't know if they are a threat. Weapons or not. Or do you not remember what Rihansu used to be?" He waved one arm around him to punctuate his point. 

"Of course, I remember," Burha snapped. 

"Then why did you touch the small one?" 

Burha didn't have an answer for that. Gaezhur snorted in triumph, counting the point won. Rihansu had been a forest once. Disease had killed the trees. Disease brought by explorers with no intent to harm the environment. Perhaps these alien creatures were unarmed, but it didn't necessarily mean they were harmless. 

Gaezhur still wasn't assured that there was no invasion forthcoming. If creatures such as these could exist at all, it meant that all the scientific knowledge of the Wingeds was open to question. They had said that mammals could not be sentient--all except the crackpot Bishtae, who perhaps was not such a crackpot after all--and yet here were two. And just because they would not send unarmed soldiers on a reconnaissance mission, did not mean the aliens would not. 

Obviously there was still a lot to learn. For the Wingeds and their science, but also for Gaezhur and his kind. If these creatures did come from another world, then they had technology more advanced than any on this world. Technology that could ensure that Buftanis was never a threat again. And if an invasion were imminent, the military would need to know how to defend against them. 

And then there was the fire that destroyed the airship. It couldn't have been caused by a crash or these two creatures wouldn't have walked away. No, they must have destroyed it themselves to prevent it from being studied and reverse engineered. 

These two creatures were indeed valuable, and Gaezhur was determined to make sure the military got what it needed from them. He pulled Major Zhenah aside and told him as much. He would go with the airevac to make sure the Wingeds didn't get the upper hand by having a head start. 

* * *

Hoshi tried to ignore the pain, the heat, the shortness of her breath. She tried not to think that she was dying. She tried to listen. She could begin to hear patterns, inflections, intonations in the natives' voices. While she could not understand the words, she understood some of the context. 

The small one with wings was a scientist. It chided the bigger one in an arrogant manner, and when it looked at Malcolm or her, it was with a sense of wonder, and yet a hint of detachment. They were objects to be observed. Objects of wonder, but objects none the less. 

The others were all discipline and suspicion. Military. The biggest of them was the commander. It--he, she felt--rankled at the arrogance of the scientist. They were at odds and it didn't seem the phenomenon of discovering alien life had caused it. No, it sounded familiar, almost habitual. She and Malcolm were just something new to argue about. 

A new sound came, growing louder and louder so that it blocked out the voices and their bickering at each other. Hoshi stopped watching them and instead watched the approach of the source of that sound. It vaguely resembled a helicopter, and she realized now it had been called after her attempt to stand. It was a med-evac vessel. She dared to hope for the best, that these people meant to help her and Reed. She didn't want to imagine anything else. 

The helicopter landed and three smaller natives came out. These were dressed head to toe in environmental hazard suits, so she couldn't see if they were like the scientist or the soldiers. They carried with them a large enclosure on a stretcher. Just one. She could understand the enclosure without imagining something too fearful. It was a wise precaution to quarantine her and the lieutenant. But there was only one, and she worried that they would be separated. 

The scientist gave the newcomers directions and they sat the enclosure in front of her and Malcolm. Now that it was so close, she could see that was big enough to fit the commanding soldier. One of the three began to lift her by her shoulder while another opened the enclosure. Pain shot through her chest but she didn't resist. She let them put her into the enclosure then she brushed off their hands and laid herself down on her side inside it. 

She was relieved then when Reed was guided in next. He didn't resist either and laid on his back beside her. The enclosure was sealed and Hoshi felt it being lifted. She couldn't even hear the sound of the helicopter. But she heard Malcolm's whisper. 

"That could have been worse," he said, barely even moving his lips. "How are you holding up?" 

"Hurts," she whispered, glad for the quiet on the enclosure. It hurt too much to try to talk louder. "Think they'll help?" 

"Possible," Malcolm answered. "The little one certainly seemed concerned." 

"Scientist," she told him. She felt a sudden weight and then it was gone. They were in the air. 

He nodded, ever so slighty. "The rest were military. They don't seem to be getting along." 

"Don't," she confirmed. "Not just about us." 

"Were you able to understand anything?" 

"Just context," she replied. She tried to take a deeper breath and ended up coughing. 

"Take it easy, Frodo." 

"Frodo?" 

"Codename," he said. "Just in case they catch us talking. The less sense we make, the harder it will be for one of their linguistic geniuses to figure us out." 

"If they're friendly--" 

"We still don't know that, Ensign," he admonished. "They're a bit awestruck right now. It might wear off." 

Hoshi nodded, hoping he was wrong. She knew it was good to be cautious though, just in case. "Yes, sir," she said, and then allowed herself a tiny smile. "Sam." 

Hoshi felt a jar from the box they were in and it sent a sharp pain into her chest. Her vision blurred and she couldn't hear Lieutenant Reed--Sam--whispering anymore. Her eyelids, and everything else, felt heavy. She felt Sam squeezing her hand and then she floated off into the darkness. 

* * *

It was a nightmare. Or he wished it were. Not only were they captured by an alien species, but his last companion--Hoshi--was dying. He'd failed. Not just the mission. There was no hope of completing the mission anymore. But his captain, his team, his duty. Moody had already paid the price and Hoshi might follow. 

He felt the enclosure shift again, then it became smooth again. It was moving. He hoped and feared it was for heading toward a hospital. Hoshi needed one, but he didn't imagine the native scientists would be satisfied with merely saving her life. If they could even manage that at all since they knew nothing of humans. 

The enclosure opened to a bright light and four hooded faces. It was hot. Not quite as hot as the desert air, but definitely warmer than what he would consider room temperature. He started to sit up only to be pushed back down by a three-fingered hand of one of the natives. The sides of the enclosure collapsed and, almost instantly, Hoshi was taken from him and placed on a large gurney and wheeled away by two of the natives in full environmental gear. 

The remaining two grabbed him by the shoulders and legs and shifted him onto another table. He wanted to tell them that he could walk but he resisted the urge. He would keep silent as long as he was able. Straps were placed across his ankles and thighs and then his shoulders. His good arm was still loose, but he didn't bother to resist. He wouldn't do anything without Hoshi. He was wheeled, feet-first, past a heavy plastic curtain and into an even brighter room. Hoshi was there. And so were seven suited-up natives, one of which was putting a tube down her throat. Two others were removing her clothes. With the tube in, she was hooked up to a machine which Malcolm hoped was simply life support. More tubes were placed in her arms and they quickly turned dark red with her blood. A monitor near the head of her gurney beeped with her pulse, and he tried not to worry that they were exsanguinating her. And he wondered why they weren't doing anything to him. 

In fact, his two minders were just standing there watching the others working on Hoshi. The leader, he assumed, barked out some orders, and one of the others pushed a laree syringe needle into one of the blood-filled tubes. Then they all stood still, waiting. The leader barked again and the syringe plunger was pushed in a bit more. The monitor beeped on regularly. Hoshi was still alive. 

When the leader spoke again, he turned in Reed's direction. Only then did his minders get to work on him. His uniform sleeve was slit up to his shoulder and a large IV needle was stuck into his vein. He realized then what had just happened. The one with the syringe came to him and his IV. They'd tested the drug on Hoshi before they gave it to him. Why, he wondered, when she was in an obviously more critical condition? He didn't have much time to ponder it as his vision suddenly left him and he lost consciousness. 

* * *

Baezhu was awestruck. When the call came in telling them they needed environmental hazard suits, he had feared that Buftanis had actually fired a nuclear bomb. But his logical mind rejected that. There were no city-wide sirens or mushroom clouds. Still, it could have been biochemical. 

Neither option, though, prepared him for what did happen. When the airevac sat down and the contagion enclosure was opened, his whole belief system crashed. Everything he had ever known and believed about life was now circumspect. There were aliens! Dr. Bishtae was right after all. 

He was frozen for a moment until the automatic reflexes of his training kicked in. The gurneys were obviously too large for these creatures, so he and Hinath strapped the conscious one down as best they could. Baezhu was glad it didn't try to resist. 

The other was obviously more injured, but even Dr. Burha wasn't sure what to do for it. Fortunately, the one being most prepared for such a phenomenon was assigned to the facility where he was needed most. Dr. Bishtae took over, directing the doctors and nurses. He proclaimed the unconscious one a female due to possession of mammary glands. That gave them some place to start. 

Keeping her alive was easy enough. She had rib bones protruding into one of her lungs, which had collapsed. A familiar injury, just in an unfamiliar patient. They could handle that. The creatures apparently breathed air like everyone else, so she was put on a respirator. A chest tube was inserted to remove the blood and fluid from around her collapsed lung, and the auto-transfuser took care of any further blood loss. Dr. Bishtae pronounced her stable, so they could then test the anesthesia. They didn't want to risk killing the male because of a bad reaction to the drug. 

Seeing that she remained stable, Bishtae ordered Hinath to administer the same anesthesia to the male. Baezhu inserted an intravenous tube into the male's uninjured arm and Hinath injected the drug. The male didn't struggle and soon closed his eyes. His breathing became more relaxed and regular. Baezhu checked his pulse and found it to be quite fast, but since it was similar to the female's pulse rate, he decided it must be normal for these creatures. He had no way to know for sure what their baseline was otherwise. It dawned on him that there was a lot they didn't know, but they now had two live specimens to teach them. 

Burha took over the treatment of the male, satisfied now that a broken bone was a broken bone, regardless of the species of his patient. Baezhu was assigned to ready two rooms for their recovery and monitoring, so he reluctantly left the aliens and returned to the familiar world of the security ward. 

* * *

"They have superior technology," Major Zhenah argued, facing the screen that showed the Council instead of Buhra. 

But Buhra knew how to play politics, too. "How can you be certain? Did you recover any of their technology?" 

Zhenah opened his mouth and then shut it again while Buhra tried not to smile. "They are aliens. To have traveled here, they _must_ have superior technology." 

"Not all that superior," Buhra challenged. "They crashed. And they couldn't even treat their own injuries." 

The Head Councilman, raised his hand. "They are injured?" 

Burha nodded. "The male had a broken appendage and a head wound. Neither appear to be fatal. The female had broken ribs which punctured a lung. Doctor Bishtae has assured us it is now stabilized and will likely survive." 

"Likely?" asked the one to the Head Councilman's right. A Raptor. It was early in the year. He would have only just lost his seat as Head Councilman to the Winged. 

"There is so much we do not know about them, Councilman," Buhra replied. "That is why they must be studied. What do they eat? What environment is best suited for them? How do they procreate? The questions are endless." 

"So is their potential threat," added Zhenah. "It is true that we know very little about them. Are they hostile? Warlike? Were they an advanced reconnaissance mission, spying out this planet for invasion?" He turned his toothy visage to face Buhra. "Do they eat reptiles?" 

"And how do you intend to ask them?" Buhra threw back, unrattled. "We don't even know if they communicate vocally. Will you draw stick figures on a board and pantomime your questions?" 

The Winged to the Head Councilman's left raised his hand again, calling them both to attention. "How long until they are healed enough to ensure their survival?" 

Buhra ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Doctor Bishtae believes they're bones would heal sufficiently in one month." 

"Then I propose we postpone this decision for one month," the Winged Councilman said. "That should give both our kindreds time to learn something of these beings. Then we can decide what course to follow with more information to make a correct decision." 

"With all due respect, Councilman," Zhenah replied, ducking his head in deference. "Their invasion forces may not wait a month." 

"What invasion forces would you be speaking of?" Burha asked. 

The Head Councilman raised his hand. "I second this proposal. The Sky Force may keep watch for any other such craft. If such craft is spotted before we reconvene, the beings will be handed over to the military for whatever questioning they can manage." He looked to his right and his left, taking enough time to look each of the eighteen other council members in the eye. "Do you favor?" 

One by one, the council members stood. Wingeds first, which wasn't surprising. Still the Raptors stood as well, if not as enthusiastically. A talent for compromise was a necessity on the Council. Each year the Head Councilship passed from Winged to Raptor or back again. One year, your kind was in power and needed the compromise of the other. And the next year, it was just the opposite. So, it was decided. 

"Doctor Bishtae would appear to have come into his own," the Head Councilman said. "He is to take charge of the beings and see to their welfare at all costs. You may learn what you can, short of endangering their well-being. I would think it would it would be unlikely they would survive serious study without being healed to robustness first. Observe them carefully. 

"And Major," he went on. "Your people may observe as well, but only that. You have other areas of investigation to attend to, I should think. And I don't think I need remind everyone here, that the discovery of these beings should not be released to the public, especially when we know so little. Should the populace find out there are aliens, we'd have panic at worse, and questions without answers at best." 

The Council stood again and Zhenah and Burha both bowed. The decision was made. Gaezhur would not be happy. 

* * *

Hoshi watched them with a rising panic. Below her, she could see her own body lying naked and cut open on an operating table. Four twittering bird-like reptiles poked at her with tubes and instruments. Her eyes were open and she was breathing, but she couldn't move. It hurt and she couldn't scream. She wanted to go down and throw them off of her body but she was out of reach, hovering over the table like some out-body-experience. Only she didn't believe in out-of-body experiences. And that thought gave her pause. The action on the table below froze and then faded quickly to a darkness tinged with red. 

Hoshi woke with a start, suddenly remembering where she was. In doing so, she gasped, but it still took her a moment to realize what she'd done and why it was significant. She had gasped and it hadn't hurt. 

Well, it had hurt, but barely, in comparison to how it had hurt just to inhale before. She pulled in a long cautious breath and found that she could indeed take in that breath, though it certainly wasn't pain-free. She tried to sit up, and found she couldn't. She could move her arms, but only so far. When she lifted them, she saw that there were heavy cloth bands around them, just above the elbows, which anchored her to the bed. She felt her chest, finding her ribs tightly wrapped. She took in another slow breath, testing the sensations she could feel. She tried her legs and found her ankles similarly bound, so she gave up the attempt for now and settled on looking around from her prone position. 

She was in a white room with one door and no windows (except the one in the door). At least, she thought it was white. The reddish glow of the dim lighting made it hard to be certain. There was no other furniture besides the bed she was lying on and a rather oddly designed lavatory. She decided to ignore that for now and worry about it when the need arose. 

That left her with the bed, which was much too long and too wide for her frame. But she remembered the creatures in the desert and realized the bed had been made for one of them. Then she remembered Malcolm and looked around the room again just to be sure he wasn't there. But she was alone, just as she'd thought. She considered calling out for him but remembered his order to keep silent. If they didn't speak, the natives couldn't learn their language. Or know that she could understand theirs, given enough time. With language would come questions that neither of them wanted to answer. 

So leaving that aside, she decided to focus on what she could determine about the natives-and her new place in their society. They had set her ribs, re-inflated her lung. She felt a little groggy and guessed they had drugged her with something. So far, it appeared that the natives were friendly enough to treat the wounds of an alien who crashed on their planet. It seemed a good sign. 

Still, she didn't like the idea of being alone. She wanted to know where Lieutenant Reed was and why _Enterprise_ had never answered their calls. It didn't make sense. There was interference, true, but they'd gotten the Morse code clearly enough to read her name from the transmission before. There was no reason _Enterprise_ wouldn't have been able to decipher at least one of the away team's. Even if they couldn't clear it up, they could still locate the approximate position of the transmission, and repeated calls from the team might lead them to suspect there had been trouble. Add that to the shuttlepod not returning in a day and it wouldn't take a giant leap of logic to assume that the new transmissions had come from the shuttlepod crew. 

Of course, there had been whatever had knocked out the shuttlepod's power and thrown them off course. It might be possible that Trip and T'Pol hadn't figured out how to get through without running into the same problem. But to not even reply in Morse code? She couldn't find a reason for that. 

* * *

Something just wasn't right. Malcolm Reed had awoken to find himself in a less than completely comfortable--and far too large--bed in a plain room lit with dim red lighting. The mattress--if he could call it that--was thin and did little to separate his body from what was apparently a metal table beneath. His arm was wrapped tightly and raised by a simple traction device, a pair of hooks on the wall and a strap to hold up his arm. Simple but effective. It was the other arm that bothered him a bit. It was strapped to the bed. Loosely, but still tight enough that he couldn't free it or his other arm, and he couldn't sit up. His ankles were similarly strapped. 

And yet that wasn't all that surprising. They had just crash-landed on a planet that hadn't realized aliens from other worlds existed, let alone were commonplace. The straps themselves were made of cloth and so not uncomfortable or harsh. He was a bit groggy from the effects of the anesthesia, but other than that, he felt relatively good. His arm hurt, but not nearly so much as before. While they had taken his uniform and left him dressed in a gown that more resembled a sheet hastily converted with scissors and suturing equipment, he was not cold. In fact, he felt comfortably warm, realizing that the red light was a form of heat lamp. They were reptilian, after all. Cold-blooded. 

All the evidence would seem to overrule his worries and fears. The natives had treated their injuries and were now keeping them comfortable if secure. It was better than he might have hoped. 

But something wasn't quite right. He didn't know where Hoshi was and there was a machine beside his bed. He knew what it was for because he could still see blood drops on the surface. That had collected some of his blood. Why? To treat Hoshi? He hoped not. They might not have the same blood type. He supposed they might have taken some to test and study, but wouldn't a syringe have been sufficient for that? And why hadn't they taken the machine when they were done? 

His biggest worry, though, was not for his own safety, but Hoshi's life. She had been in a critical condition--dying, though he tried not to think of it that way--the last time he saw her. He had no way to know if she had even survived. 

_I botched this mission all the way round,_ he chided himself. The shuttlepod crashed and destroyed, Moody dead, and Hoshi lost to him. He had failed to protect his crew and now threatened to contaminate this primitive culture. And they'd not even come close to the objective of their mission. The mysterious message and its sender were beyond his power now. He could no more investigate that message than he could sit himself up in the bed. The mission had utterly failed. He had failed. Again. 

* * *

"You're early." 

Baezhu didn't bother to take his eyes off the darkening sky. 

"I know," his friend Kahrae answered. "I heard some rumors and wanted to find out if it was true." 

"What kind of rumors?" the day guard asked. 

"They found something in the desert." 

Something in the desert. Baezhu kept his eyes on the sky. One star broke through the darkness. 

"A spy ship, a space ship," Kahrae replied. 

"Yeah, well, it was a satellite," the other guard said, "lost it's orbit and crashed." He lowered his voice. "Or that's the official story anyway." His voice came back to normal. "The post is yours. I'm going to go home and try not to have nightmares." 

The first constellation became visible before Kahrae interrupted him. 

"Baezhu?" He was closer now, but Baezhu just couldn't look away from the countless stars now appearing. They had come from somewhere out there. He nodded so Kahrae would know he'd heard. 

Kahrae leaned against the wall beside him. "It wasn't a satellite, was it?" 

Baezhu shook his head. _It was definitely not a satellite,_ he thought, but he just couldn't speak yet. 

"Not spies either," Kahrae wasn't asking now. 

"Not exactly," Baezhu finally replied. "It was the air ship, Kahrae, the one we saw. Only it wasn't from here. Not from Buftanis either." 

Kahrae hissed in wonder beside him. "A spaceship then?" he whispered. "It's true? You saw it?" 

"No, I didn't see the ship," Baezhu answered. He sighed and stood, envying Kahrae for a moment his specially-bred ability to stay out at night. Already his joints were stiffening and his mind was getting fuzzy. "I saw what was in it." 

"In it?" Kahrae repeated, still whispering. "Aliens?" 

Baezhu just nodded. Suddenly, he wanted to tell his friend everything he'd seen. "Two of them," he said. "Two alive at least. A male and a female." 

Kahrae's eyes grew wide. "What are they like? Where did they come from? What do they want?" 

"They're like nothing I've ever seen and I wouldn't know anything about them," Baezhu replied. "It's just . . . they're from somewhere out there, Kahrae." He pointed to the stars. "Do you realize what that means?" 

Kahrae just shook his head. "Are there others?" 

"There has to be." Baezhu rubbed his fingers along his arms, trying to warm them. "But how many? And what other kinds?" 

Kahrae took his gaze off the sky. "I wish you could stay. There are so many questions." 

Baezhu smiled. "Bishtae could answer them better than I, but I can't stay anyway. I'm almost stiff already." 

"Go home, Baezhu," Kahrae said, laying a hand on Baezhu's shoulder. "We can talk more at breakfast. The world won't change too much over one night, I suppose." 

"If it does," Baezhu told him, "you've got to tell me everything." 

Kahrae nodded and went to his post. Baezhu waved goodbye and headed for home, hoping his body wouldn't freeze before he got there. 

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Alien Us**

A Novel by 

Philippe de la Matraque  


  

## 

Chapter Four

  

The next morning, as they met for breakfast, Baezhu and Kahrae sat in a far corner, away from anyone who might overhear. And Baezhu told his friend all he knew. Which wasn't all that much actually. The airship they had seen was strangely a ship from another world, though they still couldn't understand why it hadnt picked up the two survivors from the other ship before it left. 

The crashed ship was destroyed, leaving a crater and dust and ash and very little to study. Except the bit of bone one of the soldiers found. Burha had determined it was from a third creature, since Dr. Bishtae had not been able to find any loss of bone in the others' x-rays. 

The remaining two were apparently not related, as preliminary studies of their DNA showed some key differences. Little was known of them beyond what could be determined during surgery, and in the lab, where tissue samples could be analyzed. What they could determine was that they were the same species, but different genders. They had lungs that breathed air, thick bones, and relatively small hearts. They appeared to be mammalian, and, yes, sentient. 

"How do you know they're sentient if they don't talk?" Kahrae asked, still obviously stunned. He hadn't touched his food. 

"They flew from space in a ship," Baezhu answered, thinking it obvious. 

"The ship crashed and the other ship left them behind," Kahrae pointed out. "They could have been pets or experiments." 

Those were good points, but they didn't explain the clothes. "They wore clothing, Kahrae, woven fabric with fasteners. There is writing on the cloth." 

"What does it say?" 

Baezhu chuckled a bit. "I don't know. I don't speak mammal." 

"Did they--" Kahrae began and then tried again. "Were they afraid of us? Do they think us as strange as we think them?" 

Baezhu thought about his answer, trying to focus his memory on their reactions. "No, I don't think they were. Maybe they were in shock. They _were_ injured. Or maybe they're just used to seeing beings from other planets." 

"That would mean there are more," Karhae stated with a faraway look in his eyes. "If there can be sentient mammals out there, what else is out there?" 

"And if there are sentient mammals," Baezhu said, making a different point, "and all we're taught says that's not possible, what else is possible that we think isn't? What other truths are untrue? How can we trust anything we've ever known?" 

They leaned forward on their chairs and let that thought run for a bit. It was Kahrae who finally broke their ponderous silence. "You're a scientist, Baezhu. At least you have something to fall back on." 

"Except that it might all be untrue," Baezhu refuted, not seeing the bright spot in this new veil of chaotic uncertainty. 

"You are always saying science is the method," Kahrae told him. "The method. Not the results. So you can put that method to work and find answers. The method hasn't changed." 

Baezhu hadn't thought of it that way. The method. Evidence, hypothesis, experimentation, and publication. The evidence had changed, but the method had not. 

"I'd bet Colonel Gaezhur doesn't see it that way," Kahrae continued. "Without the ship, if we can't communicate with them, we can't find the answers we need. Like why did they come here in the first place?" 

* * *

Hoshi so wanted to cry out, to know she wasn't alone, to find a way to communicate with the people who held them. But she understood Lieutenant Reed's order. No communication, no questions, no answers. It was probably easier for him. He was so quiet anyway. But she was made for communication. All her talent and passion went to learning languages and bridging the gap between two cultures. 

She wanted to know the natives' intentions. She wanted to know about her injuries. She wanted to know where the lieutenant was and if he was okay. She wanted to talk. 

She had lain awake the whole night--or what she guessed was night. Without a window, she couldn't be certain. What she did know was that she was scared, and her chest was starting to hurt again. The red overhead lights had faded, leaving the room warm and white. They had healed her, but what would they want with her now? 

When a face appeared in the door's window, she suddenly wanted to stay alone. The face was reptilian, and except for the environmental suit that covered it, it reminded her of a scene from an old 20th century movie about dinosaurs brought back from extinction in an amusement park. A velociraptor looking through the kitchen window at the two children who were trying to get away. Thats what they reminded her of: velociraptors. Of course, beyond their first introduction, she'd yet to see more than just the head of whoever kept watch. 

When the door opened, it was a soft sucking sound like an air lock being released. Quarantine, she realized. They knew nothing about her, whether she carried diseases or anything else dangerous to them. Two of the creatures-- "people," she told herself--entered, one taller than the other and both wearing environmental suits. The tall one moved closer, bending down to peer into her face. She met his gaze, but did not say anything. She'd keep her silence as ordered. But she would say what she could with her eyes. 

After a moment, she felt she'd gotten through to the creature. He straightened up quickly and stepped back. He barked an order to the smaller one, who held up what looked like a clipboard. The taller one's demeanor changed, and Hoshi immediately felt like a science exhibit. He turned her head one way and then the other, opened her mouth to examine her teeth, manually opened and shut her jaw a few times, all the while spouting notes that the smaller one wrote down on its clipboard. He seemed fascinated that her jaw could move sideways as well, though at one point he moved it too hard and Hoshi winced. 

The creature let go of her, said something to the smaller one, and then resumed where he'd left off. He studied her arms next, releasing one of the restraints. He tested its movement in every direction not interrupted by the bed they had her on. Her fingers apparently enthralled him. He counted them one by one. And so she learned their first five numbers: _ak, ahsh, bah, seh, ki_. 

Where it went from there, though, made her quite uncomfortable. He pulled back the ill-fitting gown and fingered her breasts in the same clinical and yet curious manner. She closed her eyes and told herself over and over that he was a doctor, no different than Phlox. She would not feel overly uncomfortable in a doctor's presence back on Earth or _Enterprise_. She shouldnt here. Still, she kept her eyes closed and stiffened her body until he had moved down to her knees and replaced the gown. 

He seemed completely unaware of her previous discomfort and just as fascinated with her feet as with every other part of her. _Ak, ahsh, bah, seh, ki_ again. Five toes on each foot. 

Finished with that initial exploration, the big one got down to business. He removed both arm restraints and sat her up on the bed. It hurt a bit, but he did call the other one over to support her. Once again, he removed the gown by a tie at her shoulder. He then began to remove the bandages around her chest, all the while talking over her shoulder to the smaller one. 

_He's giving directions,_ she realized. Like a doctor training an intern. Once the bandages were taken away, the big one carefully patted her ribs and inspected the incision through which they must have repaired her lungs. He said something, to her this time, but she only stared back. He motioned to her, holding his hands to the side of his own chest as he inhaled deeply. She understood, and did what he was suggesting. She was more comfortable now that her role was back to patient rather than exotic curiosity or alien specimen. The tall one--Doctor, she decided to call him--resumed his examination. She winced a few times and the doctor said something else to the smaller one--the intern. The doctor rewrapped her ribs and walked away. The intern put a syringe to her shoulder and tied the gown back up. And he too moved away. The door opened and they were gone. 

Still feeling weak, and now once again feeling sleepy, Hoshi laid herself back down. She was glad that at least they hadn't restrained her again. She could untie her ankles when she woke up. She had just a moment to note she'd moved into another phase of her stay here, before her eyes became too heavy, and she closed them in sleep. 

* * *

Malcolm Reed had not slept all night. He realized it was morning when the red light dimmed. As reptiles, the natives here needed heat lamps at night. So once the red light was off, the day, he reasoned, would supply enough warmth. And all that reasoning didn't change his situation any. He was still there tied to a bed on an alien planet, one crew member dead, the other lost to him. 

Just when the pain in his arm was becoming too much to ignore, two natives entered. Beaked ones, one taller than the other. They wore environmental suits and one carried an old-fashioned clipboard and a camera. The taller one gave the other some instructions and then came over to Reed for the inevitable examination. 

What proceeded was the most laborious, embarrassing, invasive examination he'd ever been subjected to. The doctor poked at every minute part of him from eyebrows to toenails, while a shorter one took photos and jotted down notes. He did his best to bear it with enough Reed stoicism to make his father proud, but it wasn't easy. Still, he managed with only an occasional wince or the closing of his eyes. 

After all that fuss, they finally got down to the business of his broken arm. The taller one--Saruman, he decided, keeping with the theme of their silly code names--unwrapped, cleaned, and redressed the wound, and then replaced the hard plastic splint before winding it all back up again. 

Oddly enough, they didn't restrain him again. Saruman simply placed his arm back in the fabric on the hook to keep it suspended and walked away with the verbal order to the smaller one. That one gave him a shot of something which caused the pain in his arm to die down and his eyelids to become heavy. He was asleep before the small one left the room. 

* * *

Dr. Bishtae had waited for him in the corridor, with his helmet off. He smiled. "So what have we learned?" he asked, putting Baezhu on the spot. 

"They are similar to us in several ways," Baezhu began, keeping it simple. "Two arms, two legs, eyes, ears, mouths. But they are more similar to each other. Five digits on each limb, no claws, highly mobile mandible...." 

"They are different from each other as well," Bishtae added. "In what ways?" 

"Their skin tones, body hair placement, musculature, shape of the torso, eye-shape and color, head-fur length, and, of course, genitalia." 

Bishtae nodded. "So what can we surmise?" 

"They are the same species, but the differences derive from their separate genders or separate classes within the species." 

"A very good hypothesis," Bishtae agreed, "though further study is required to test that theory. I'm content, though, that the differences seem superficial. Of course, they are likely to have different reproductive organs, but after initial internal study, we can concentrate our studies on the male." 

"What do we do with the female? Baezhu asked as they began to walk again. 

"It will be superfluous. Of course, we will try to keep the male viable, but we can keep the female as a backup subject. All this, of course, must wait until they heal. It's all superficial until then." 

"Doctor," Baezhu said, setting a hand on Bishtae's arm to stop him again, "what does it all mean together? They're aliens. From another world. Are there others, different ones, out there? And why did they come here anyway?" 

Bishtae sighed. "All good questions that I can only theorize about now. I believe there _are_ others, I'm sure you're well aware. I feel vindicated by the appearance of these two. As to why they came or what others are out there, we can only guess or infer from the evidence these two give us, either through study, experimentation, and observation, or by communicating with them directly." 

"Is it even possible to communicate with them directly?" 

"Hypothetically, from just this superficial examination, I think they have the ability to communicate. Certainly, they have the intelligence. They might not do so verbally. Or they might simply be cautiously observing us." 

Baezhu gave that some thought, imagining himself in the opposite role. "Do you think they are afraid of us?" 

"Perhaps, but we cannot let sentiment stand in the way of discovery. Our worldview has been shaken by their arrival. If they won't communicate with us, we will have to get the information we need scientifically. They are subjects, Baezhu, not guests. And if they were not subjects, they'd be prisoners, as Colonel Gaezhur sees them. Which would you rather? 

Baezhu nodded, understanding that choice very well. 

"Good," Bishtae said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "Get those notes into the system and scan the images. We'll need them to plan our studies." 

Baezhu nodded and headed toward the doctor's office while Bishtae went to meet with his superiors. At least he had a little more information to share with Kahrae now. 

* * *

When he awoke, Malcolm's arm hurt a bit. His other arm. He lifted his head to see a small bandage there over a ball of cotton. They had drawn his blood again. He wondered again why they did that. Was it for Hoshi? Was she that bad off? Or were they just stocking up? He didn't want to think about that. 

But given the time--night again, if he judged by the warm, red light--and the quietness of the room, he didn't have much else to keep his mind from going places he'd rather stay away from. The old gag film "Alien Autopsy" came to mind. "Planet of the Apes" also popped up. Only one of the surviving astronauts escaped without a lobotomy. And he was seen as a threat. 

No. He forced himself off that train of thought. They had treated him kindly, if clinically, so far. Yes, they were scientifically curious. Who wouldn't be when the first aliens you ever knew existed showed up on your doorstep? They had treated his arm and Hoshi's ribs--he assumed. They had managed to successfully anesthetize him without knowing the first thing of human physiology. They had fairly advanced medical technology, based on what little he'd seen. They weren't cavemen. 

They had plenty of opportunity to kill him and dissect him since they found he and Hoshi and hadn't done that yet. They had even released the restraints.... 

Restraints! He sat up now that he remembered. His arms were free and it only took a few minutes, given his one bad arm, to release his legs. It felt good just to bend them, though he got a bit dizzy when he stood up. His whole body felt stiff and he was hungry. He also felt the call of nature and was glad he could use the odd lavatory with his back to the door with its little window and ever-present face. Hoshi wouldn't have it so easy. Neither would he, eventually. 

That accomplished, and no evidence of anything edible forthcoming for the night, he paced his small room, tapping lightly on the walls. The guards head cocked to the side at that, but Reed ignored him, trying to make his tapping sound casual, more like a song than the Morse code he was using. After about an hour of that, with no response, he felt sleepy again. His rational mind told him Hoshi was either still sleeping or not in an adjoining room, but he couldn't talk himself out of the heavy feeling of alone-ness that began to sink into his chest. He laid back down on the so-called bed and wallowed in it until he fell back asleep. 

****** 

Hoshi counted seven nights, wondering if she'd been unconscious through more than that. Her ribs felt better, though they still ached considerably. Every day, the smaller guy--the intern--would come in to change her bandages and give her an injection, though lately the injection didn't make her as dizzy and did less and less to dull her pain. She thought that perhaps they didn't know how much pain she was in. She dismissed that. She couldn't tell them how much it hurt, but she couldn't keep all of it out of her facial expressions or body language. 

Perhaps, then, they were studying her reaction to the pain. Or they simply didn't know which drugs worked best for her since she couldn't tell them. Still, she tried not to dwell on it. Her ribs were healing in spite of the pain. 

And they were finally getting a handle on what kinds of food she could eat. Though she was game to try new and exotic dishes, she had drawn the line at raw, living rodents, worms, or insects. She preferred the fruits and vegetables they gave her. Some of them were actually quite tasty. She especially liked the sweet, purple melon. She wondered, though, if Malcolm's allergies were limiting his choices even further than hers. 

Seven nights. A week of silence. There were only two people on this planet that she could talk to, and she couldn't find one and hadn't seen the other in over a week. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever gone so long without talking to someone in some way. She'd never felt this lonely. Even with someone watching her every second. 

Seven days in, she'd kept only a modicum of modesty. She'd learned to use the odd toilet contraption in the best manner she could manage. The first time she was quite nervous because of the shape and size of it and because of her peeping Tom. Orc, she decided. By now, she'd had to use it so many times, she didn't care if he was watching. She'd yet to be let out of the room, so she had to take care of her needs right there under his nose. At least Malcolm could stand up half the time, she thought ruefully. 

Every time her thoughts returned to him, she felt lonelier. 

* * *

The male creature ate more. That was no surprise to Baezhu. He even seemed more willing to try new things, though both balked at live meals. Baezhu had never seen that before. He had assumed, then, that they were herbivores, but Bishtae reminded him not to jump to conclusions. The doctor carried the experiment further by bringing them carrion, which they also wouldn't touch. In fact, they kept as far away from it as possible in their small quarantine rooms. And then Bishtae got creative and put fresh meat--without skin--over a burner until it was dark and stiff. That, they ate. They truly were alien. 

But the surprise was that the male was apparently the more susceptible to illness. Twice in the last week, he'd gotten sick in response to his meals. Baezhu was able to work out the reasoning himself, given that it happened immediately after the male ate. He was allergic. 

But to what? The whole fruit or a particular nutrient in it? There was no way to tell except by the scientific method. His meals were carefully planned out to narrow down, by elimination, the ingredients he was allergic to, and what reaction they produced. 

The first time a reaction had occurred was to _hava,_ a sweet, seedless fruit imported from the tropics. He'd sneezed for hours. A second time came from a _keuf,_ the red root of the _keufeir_ flower. His limbs and face had swollen and become blotchy with a red rash. Fortunately, he'd eaten little of it, and the swelling reduced in less than an hour. The rash had lasted through the night. 

The female was fed the same foods and had no adverse physical reactions. With only one of each, however, could they truly know that these two were representative of the entire species? DNA tests carried out on the bone fragment were inconclusive though enough to prove it had come from neither of the two specimens they had on hand. There had been a third alien. Subsequent searches of the area could not find enough trace evidence to piece together anything more of the third, so they could come to no conclusions about it other than it had existed and now did not. 

Both the surviving aliens slept a great deal, which could be attributed to their injuries, especially the female's. Of course, it could be part of their natural behavior, like felines. They could be accustomed to cooler climates and thus conserve energy in the heat by sleeping. Baezhu dismissed that one. They were walking in the desert when they were found. Baezhu had his own idea on why they slept so much: boredom. 

These creatures had traveled in space. Being stuck in such small rooms--alone--for a week had to be maddeningly dull. The actions of the male, when he was awake, seemed to bear that out. He sometimes paced the room and tapped absently against the walls. Dr. Bishtae had hoped it was some form of communication, but he never did it when they were in the room. As it was, he tapped on every wall except the one with the door, which would be the most apparent channel for communication with his hosts. Neither could Dr. Bishtae discern a particular pattern that might be indicative of language. However, it was rhythmic, and thus the scientists had concluded the male was tapping music. 

And that was exciting in itself. "They may be more like us than we thought!" Baezhu told his friend at breakfast. 

"Like us?" Kahrae repeated. "They came from another planet. How does tapping on a wall make them like us?" 

"Because it's culture, Kahrae," Baezhu replied. "Like art and films. If they have music, they might have those other things, too. We know they have science and technology, but culture shows even more depth of intelligence." 

Kahrae smiled. "That's strange coming from a Winged. Most of you have no use for the Monitors." 

Baezhu didn't take offense. "Well, you Raptors don't seem too appreciative of them either." 

"Not true," Kahrae argued. "We know the value of entertainment and relaxing after a night's--or day's--work. It's you Winged who bring your work home and analyze everything even in your sleep. We haven't been to a film since they arrived." 

"It's only been a week," Baezhu reminded him. "Besides this isn't just some geological study, Kahrae. This is like a meteor striking the planet. This changes _everything._ " 

Kahrae pushed his cup away and looked thoughtfully back at his friend. "If you were in charge, Baezhu, what would you do with them?" 

Baezhu pondered his friends question with equal thoughtfulness and then answered, "Just what we're doing. We have to study them. They won't just talk to us, and even if we could make them, how could we understand what they're saying? So we have to glean whatever information we can." 

Kahrae shook his head. "It just seems so slow. Ten days and we don't really know much at all." 

"Well," Baezhu began, "we know they breathe the air like we do, don't like live animals for food, wear manufactured clothing and can fly in outer space." 

"Yes," Kahrae said, waving a hand, "and they have skeletons of bone with some cartilage, teeth for both plant and meat eating, and a dozen other scientific facts. But we don't know where they came from or why they came. Are they explorers or are they conquerors? Do they want to trade with us or enslave us? If they were to attack, could we make a defense? And what about others? If these creatures are out there, even if they are pacifistic scientists, are there others who are just hoping to find a planet full of reptiles to devour? Can science answer those questions?" 

Baezhu consider that. "Maybe not all of them, but I wouldn't think they'd stopped to make music if they were only interested in war." 

* * *

They'd stopped wearing environmental suits somewhere around two weeks. That probably meant they were no longer concerned about microbes or bacteria, Hoshi decided. Though, remembering the Klingon-esque food they brought her early on, and pairing that with what she knew of lizards on earth, she worried about microbes and bacteria from them. Komodo dragons drooled particularly noxious saliva that helped to kill their prey. Two weeks in, Hoshi was not at all worried about being eaten. But what if one of them sneezed? 

Her ribs were feeling better, though they still hurt quite a bit if she made any sudden moves. Not a lot of chance for that though. Her days were mind-numbingly routine. At least the food had gotten better. It still couldn't match Chef's cooking, but she was sure she'd had worse in her secondary school cafeteria. The fruits were actually quite good and the vegetables were fresh, if somewhat bland. 

When she was visited, it was rather clinical and far less a violation than that first visit. In fact, it had all become rather blasé to her. What was curious to her, though, was the fact that they never tried to communicate with her. Not once did they attempt to introduce themselves in even the most rudimentary way. They spoke, but only to each other. And she was beginning to understand words and phrases, glimpses of grammatical structure by their clipped and meager speech. They spoke about her, and scientifically so, but never to her. 

They drew blood, checked the progress of her ribs, weighed and measured her, and left her alone. And alone was how she spent the rest of each day and night. She wished she had some assurances that they hadn't bugged the room. Then she would just turn her back to the face in the door and talk to herself just to have someone to talk to. But she had no assurances, and the nights became oppressively quiet. 

She had just lain down, hoping to fall asleep quickly when she heard something. Tapping. At first she worried it was some sort of rodent or other pest, but then she started to discern a pattern to it that sounded vaguely familiar. 

It stopped. 

Her heart dropped. It was something, maybe something from Malcolm. She played it over in her head and tried to place the rhythm. It wasn't Morse. Morse code had only a few intervals. Short between dots, longer between dashes, and even longer between words. Morse code sounded mechanical and this was more musical. Without tune and pitch it was harder to identify. 

She played it again and just then the tapping resumed. And in her head she heard an orchestra. She nearly cried for the joy of that sound: Starfleet's anthem. 

* * *

Malcolm Reed didn't really know why he bothered, except that he had nothing better to do. And he couldn't let go of his need to find Hoshi, even if he couldn't leave the room. By now the ever-present guard even seemed bored with it. He didn't put it past them to try and find patterns to his tapping, however, which is why he decided upon songs and not code. He could change songs and change the pattern making them start from scratch. 

Today's chosen tune was the Starfleet anthem. He'd used it before, but he had to keep the repertoire rather thin to be sure Hoshi had the best chance of recognizing it. She might be a classical fan or she might not know Mozart from Wagner. He kept it to singable choruses, short pieces of some known value to Hoshi and Starfleet's anthem fit that nicely. 

But just like every other day, he heard nothing in reply. The overhead heat lamps had come on and he had given it another five minutes before he called it quits. He finished the last chorus from the bed and lay down, resolving to do some light conditioning the next day. He still couldn't do much with his arm, but he could manage sit ups at the very least. There were some karate warm-ups that would seem innocuous enough to appear nonthreatening. 

That decided, he closed his eyes. And then popped them open again when he heard a soft rapping on the wall. Had it been Morse, it would have begun dash, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot. But Malcolm knew it wasn't Morse, just as his had not been. And he knew it wasn't his captors just trying to tap back as an experiment because the rhythm was far too familiar... and British: "God Save the Queen." 

Wanting a confirmation, he risked one word in Morse: _Frodo._ And he had to force himself to not smile when he heard the reply: _Sam._

* * *

Baezhu stood behind Dr. Bishtae, taking notes on every reaction the male made. "Bishtae," Dr. Bishtae said, touching his own chest before lightly touching the male's chest. The male followed the movement of Bishtae's hand with his gaze, but made no move to reply. Neither did he look perplexed or confused, however. If anything, he appeared disinterested, though, of course, even that was an assumption on Baezhu's part. What basis did they have for interpreting facial expressions of aliens? 

"Bishtae," the doctor tried again. This time, he even touched Baezhu on the arm and gave his name. Without thinking, Baezhu ducked his head at the introduction. Still, the male kept silent. 

Dr. Bishtae stood up straight. "It is possible," he stated for Baezhu's benefit, "that they don't communicate verbally." 

_Or he doesn't want to communicate,_ Baezhu thought. "Do you mean the tapping?" he asked. 

"Possible, though we can still not detect any particular pattern. The female does only tap on the conjoining wall however, but no, I mean that they might communicate telepathically." 

"If that were so, they wouldn't need the tapping. Even if it is not communication in strictest sense, it may be that it comforts the female to know the male is nearby. If they could communicate telepathically, she wouldn't need such comfort. She would know he is here." 

Dr. Bishtae regarded him for a moment. "You've really been giving this thought, haven't you?" 

"I find it fascinating, Doctor," Baezhu admitted. "Though it is still incredible to suddenly _know_ that aliens exist." 

"A bit frightening as well, yes?" 

"Not so much these two." Baezhu waved a hand at the male, who was following their conversation with his eyes. "They seem placid enough, but the whole idea rather--and who else--or what else--might be out there." 

"We are only on the cusp of discovery, young one. But to get back to the topic at hand... hypothesizing telepathy. It could be their telepathy only reaches those they can see, and these two cannot see each other." 

"But he can see us." 

"True, but would we know how to perceive his thoughts if he were sending them?" Then Dr. Bishtae smiled. "Well, telepathy or no, they do possess vocal cords so we can assume that they use them for something." 

"So we shouldn't give up trying to communicate verbally," Baezhu concluded. 

"Or trying to find patterns in their tapping." 

* * *

_Bishtay,_ Malcolm pondered, _and Bayzhoo. I'm still going to call you Saruman. Not sure about the little guy yet._ He wondered what they were discussing, but, seeing as he didn't possess Hoshi's gift for language, he concentrated on their interaction. The smaller one deferred to Saruman who almost seemed like a teacher. Perhaps the smaller one was just young, a student as well as an assistant. Oddly, whenever a different doctor visited with this assistant or a different one, there was far less discussion and more order-barking. Maybe Saruman was more of a Gandalf. 

They hadn't mistreated him after all. Sure, they kept him locked up--and away from Hoshi--and drew his blood every few days but tortured them with nothing more menacing than boredom. Maybe he was more of a Thranduil to Malcolms Thorin, though that would be jumping books altogether. 

_Bored enough that I keep playing games with Tolkien code names,_ Malcolm chided himself. _Where is_ Enterprise _?_ It had been thirty days by his count, give or take a few in the monotony of it all. Thirty days and no sign of rescue. And no way to get a sign. It just wasn't like Captain Archer to leave his people behind like this. If they were still trying to stop the Xindi weapon Malcolm would understand the captain finally making that decision. He'd been a different man then. But that threat was ended months ago. _Enterprise_ was exploring again. Archer wouldn't feel compelled to sacrifice two of his senior staff--and a MACO. 

No, _Enterprise_ and her captain would come for them when they could. He was sure of it. He and Hoshi would just have to wait it out. 

* * *

They couldn't say much without giving the natives a stepping stone--however obscure--to communicating with them, but in small doses, she and Malcolm passed assurances in code through the wall between them. And it was the high point of her day when they did so. She felt physically better just knowing she wasn't alone and that the lieutenant was all right. Each time he tapped exercised her mind to pull the tune from her memory. And each word she received or gave was a lifeline giving her something to hold on to. The silence, she was convinced, would have driven her mad eventually. 

She wished the natives would try to talk to her. Not so she would disobey Malcolm's order or risk contaminating their culture any further, but rather for the challenge of learning to understand more than a few medical or biological terms. She felt like she was no more than a lab rat to them. 

On the one hand, they seemed understandably fascinated and curious to discover and study an alien. But on the other, they had no wish to communicate with it even without knowing whether or not it had any intention of communicating back. They should at least try, she thought. She supposed she should feel relieved, but it frankly made her a bit angry. 

_They don't talk,_ she told Malcolm, tagging it onto the end of "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider." She waited awhile for a reply, as always, worrying that it wasn't just a disguise for their attempt at contact with each other, but that he hadnt heard her at all. Eventually, though, she heard it. It was hard to tell the song, given the even beats of it. She'd work that out later, as a distraction. Right then she wanted the message at the end: _Do to me._

Now she really was mad. They were talking to Lieutenant Reed but not to her. And she was a linguist! Of course, they didn't know that, but still, she did. She knew that she should be the one they tried to talk to. 

More tapping, no song: _Safer this way._

He must have known how she would feel. That surprised her. She liked Malcolm, but he was so private that she forgot how observant of others he was. 

He was right, of course, though it didn't make her feel any better. 

* * *

"We do not know that they are a threat," one of the Wingeds at the long table said. 

Colonel Gaezhur glared back at him. "We do not know that they are not," he retorted. 

"Mind your tone, Colonel," Grand Raptor Ussa scolded. "You address the Council." 

Colonel Gaezhur bit back his next invective rather than voicing it aloud. "Forgive me," he said, dipping his head to the Winged, whose name he'd not bothered to learn. 

"If I may," Dr. Burha interjected. "The colonel is correct in that we don't know either way. The problem is that we can't know if they won't tell us. And they don't seem inclined to speak. In fact, we are not even certain that they can. There are simply too many questions." 

The colonel fumed. Burha had already cut off his avenue of argument. He couldn't force the aliens to talk if they couldn't talk. 

The Head Councilman spoke for the first time since the meeting began. "Their wounds are healed?" 

"Sufficiently so, sir," Dr. Burha replied, "so as not to threaten viability or hinder further research." 

"And you can keep them viable?" 

"We believe so. Life support is simple enough. We have stocked blood from the male, and it is compatible with that of the female. Respirators can be--and have been--adapted to keep their airways open." 

The Head Councilman nodded and the colonel waited for him to say more. But it was the Winged who spoke next. "From the preliminary exams, it would appear they have little in the way of defense or offense, biologically speaking. Any threat would have to be technological. And until communication is possible we can't discover their threat potential. What we can learn from them physically outweighs their strategic value. We can learn about their biology, of course, but that can give us clues to geography as well, telling us what kind of world they came from." 

"And sociologically," Dr. Burha piped in. "And learning of the culture could give us hints at their threat potential. Respectfully, I submit that until they communicate--and we can understand their communications--science is the only way will learn anything." 

Colonel Gaezhur knew hed lost even before the vote. He did understand the logic behind the decision. What bothered him was the time. Science was a valuable tool, but a slow one. It had been forty days already since the aliens had been found. If an attack was coming, it could be next week or next month. And would they be ready? 

"If I may," he interjected after the last vote was cast and the decision passed. The Head Councilman nodded. "It may be that in the course of studying the aliens, they may speak--or communicate in some other way. It may also be that we will not recognize it or understand it. Would it not be wise, therefore, to have a linguist present at all times to study any such communications? I am certain the learned doctor and his colleagues have been diligently recording the tappings the aliens do, but they are biologists, geologists, sociologists. A linguistic specialist might find such patterns where a biologist might miss them." 

The same Winged on the Council ducked his head. "A reasonable suggestion." 

"I concur," said the Head Councilman. "If there is any who disagrees, speak now. " 

None spoke, so the colonel resigned himself to this one small victory. The Wingeds would have the aliens for now, but a linguist working with them directly meant that they might get to reevaluate that decision all the sooner. 

* * *

"We may proceed!" Bishtae announced to the gathered scientists. A cacophony of clapping and clucking followed that proclamation, and he reveled in it for a moment before raising his hands for silence. A month ago, he was considered a quack. Today, they all looked to him for guidance. He respected each one of them and did not consider himself so high above them in knowledge or skill to merit this change of fortune. It was the depth of his imagination that set him apart and turned them toward him. He was the only one to have dreamed that aliens might exist and invest his time and thought into imagining what they might be like and how to find out. 

"The information we've gained thus far is invaluable," he told the group. "But there is much still to be discovered. We will start with a comprehensive internal examination of both subjects. We must, however, keep them alive, and so we must not take on too much at once. We will have time later for detailed explorations of major organ systems. We can also narrow down the redundancies. One lower limb will suffice to tell us of both, for example, though we should accurately document both genders." 

"So what we are looking for at first is a baseline anatomical evaluation?" Dr. Enesh asked. 

"Precisely," Bishtae replied. "Anything further might prove too much strain. We can test tolerances later and move forward--principally with the male--at that point. My fellows, this is an historic moment, and we are the ones at the apex of it all!" 

The celebration lasted for a good five minutes and then, in their euphoria, the scientist began talking in small groups. This banter naturally melded into scientific discussions, questions and plans. Within two hours, the two surgical teams had been picked and the methods of anesthesia and life-support decided. All that was left was to prepare the surgical area--and the subjects themselves. 

  


 


	5. Chapter 5

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Five**

Author's note: Due to painful hands, I've had to speech-type this chapter. I read each scene over again as I did so, to catch as many typos (speak-os) as I could find. So if you happen to find any more, please contact me personally by e-mail (not on the review page). Speakos are harder to find as none of the words are misspelled exactly. They just might be the wrong word. I now return you to Chapter Five. 

* * *

Something had changed. Malcolm wasn't sure what it was, but something was definitely about to happen. For one thing, there were no visits from Saruman and his protégé. But more ominous than that was that there was no food. Only water. Hoshi had confirmed that they hadn't fed her either. Malcolm hadn't replied after that. He didn't want to scare her. 

He had several ideas on why the natives would stop feeding them. None of them were good. They might be trying to see how long their captives could live without food. They might be getting ready to kill and dissect them. They might be preparing to transport them somewhere else. Which on the surface didn't sound as bad as the other two. But what was unknown could be more dangerous than what was known. And then, there was surgery. Except in emergencies, doctors always ordered a fast before surgery. 

He was wary then when the door opened the next morning. Saruman and a smaller one entered and checked him over no differently than before. Until Saruman grabbed both of his arms in his large, three-fingered hands. The smaller one quickly stuck a needle into his shoulder and emptied a syringe of something into it. 

Instantly, he started to feel heavier. He tried to get out of Saruman's grip. He even tried to kick him, but the smaller one--Grima, his sluggish mind provided--clamped his fingers around both his legs and held them firm. _Please_ , he thought, _whatever happens, leave Hoshi out of it._ Within seconds, there was no longer any fight in him. He couldn't even hold his head up. He tried to keep his eyes open though and saw the door opened again to allow a table of some sort in. Saruman and Grima lifted him easily onto it and laid him down onto its cold metal surface. Everything went dark at that point. 

* * *

It had gone easier than Baezhu thought it would. They had both seemed trusting, to a point. The male certainly had seemed more alert when they had entered. And he had tried, weakly, to fight when Dr. Bishtae grabbed him. But really, Baezhu had had worse experience with _daka_ , non-sentient mammals half this size. The female was a little more difficult, as they didn't want to reinjure her ribs, which might still be weakened from her injuries. But in both cases, they were now lying quietly asleep on their respective surgical gurneys. 

The large surgical room had been chosen and prepped the day before. Both gurneys were rolled in and set securely in place next to the two large machines, a respirator and a coronary replacement. 

Hinath was assigned to Dr. Burha who led the team who would examine the female. Baezhu was assigned to Dr. Bishtae and the team examining the male. As Lesser Wingeds, they were to provide support and minor assistance. Baezhu wasted no time, taking the male's pulse and blood pressure readings as a baseline for the coronary replacement. He took several readings, realizing that it was the most important aspect of life support. 

That done, Dr. Enesh began to set up both machines while Dr. Bishtae inserted the tube which would allow the respirator to breathe for the subject. Dr. Kinah began the anesthetic IV drips which would keep both subjects unconscious for the duration. 

* * *

Hoshi woke up to a sharp pain in her chest. She screamed but heard nothing but alien voices. She couldn't even draw in a breath to scream. In spite of the searing pain running down the length of her sternum, her breaths came in even, almost mechanical regularity. She couldn't change it even to gasp, though the pain was enough to take her breath away. She would have disobeyed Reed's order for silence if she could only move her mouth. She could feel something hard on her tongue. 

She tried to move her hands, her feet, anything, but nothing even twitched. She couldn't even open her eyes. It was like she was locked inside a body that wouldn't obey her. Like it was someone else's body. Only she felt and heard everything. She became aware of a loud buzzing sound moving toward her and then pressure in her chest. She had never felt so much pain before. Surely it was enough to kill her, to cause her heart to stop, or to send her into shock. 

The buzzing stopped and she felt something reach inside of her. _Stop!_ she sobbed--in her mind. She couldn't make anything else work. Suddenly, it was all worse. The pressure in her chest went the other way, pulling out on her ribs. She heard them crack. She felt a draft underneath her agony and realized they had opened her chest. 

_God_ , she prayed, not caring about whether or not there was one to pray to, _please let me die._

* * *

_Don't they even know?_ Malcolm wondered for the thousandth time in what seemed an eternity. _I'm awake!_ But he could do nothing to make them aware. He couldn't move the slightest voluntary muscle and all the involuntary ones just kept humming along as if his body wasn't a bottomless pit of pain. His chest hurt unimaginably, but his right hand felt as if it had been put through a meat shredder. His whole arm had been sliced up, as had one of his legs. What they did to the rest of him--what he imagined because he could only hear and feel--was enough to make him wretch, but he couldn't even do that. _My God_ , he realized, _they're dissecting me but they won't let me die first._

Won't let him die. He would have given up that ghost a million times over by now, if they had given him the opportunity. He was cold. He was burning everywhere they touched, and he was sure he should have bled to death by now. But, of course, they had collected his blood. 

Suddenly, his right eye opened and the nightmarish ordeal sank to an even deeper level. He couldn't move his eye to turn it or to let them know he was awake. He couldn't even see clearly. The light above them was so bright it hurt. But he saw a three-fingered hand reaching for him, coming closer and closer. Something cold pushed into his eye socket just above his lower eyelid. If he could have screamed, he would have. The pressure built up so that he couldn't see past the pain anyway until suddenly the pressure was gone. The pain was not. 

_Just kill me!_ he screamed to them silently, and he begged for at least the dark peace of unconsciousness. But that was long in coming. He felt them replace his eye, though now he could barely see anything. They closed it for him and he wished they'd close down everything. His heart, his lungs, or whatever machines were keeping him alive. 

Finally, the pain ebbed away on a wave of heavy darkness and he hoped it meant he was dead. 

* * *

By the time Doctors Bishtae and Burha had finished, there was only an hour remaining to Baezhu's shift. Both aliens were now sleeping in a special room set up with life-support and anesthesia not too different from the surgical room. Yet it was meant to be more comfortable for them. Instead of hard tables, they rested on pressure foam mattresses and pillows for their heads and knees. Of course, both were so drugged with pain killers now that they wouldn't even feel the mattresses. Even then, knowing so little about their capacity for narcotics required round-the-clock observation. 

Either one might be dead before tomorrow's shift, he realized. But if even one survived, today's examination had given them--and would continue to do so--so much more information on their physiology that Bishtae was confident they could keep the aliens viable through further examinations and experiments. Already, they had learned enough to make anatomical drawings. There were, of course, deeper studies needed to accurately depict the heart and brain, for example. But to continue on immediately would stretch their chances of viability too thin. As it was, there were many variables that would have to be monitored carefully, like infection, clotting, hemorrhaging, or simply shock. 

To control the first, the room was kept as near to sterile as they could possibly manage, and antibiotics were administered intravenously. Only foods known to cause no allergic reactions in the male would be used in the feeding tubes to guard that variable as well. For clotting and hemorrhaging, blood pressure was monitored constantly. Any abnormal rise or drop would signal a problem, but also ultrasound technology was used to visually check veins and arteries to ensure blood flowed properly. 

Shock was the harder variable to control. It really varied so widely between individuals. Thus the doctors had all agreed that induced comas were the best option at this point. 

Kahrae caught him at breakfast the next morning. "They survivied the night?" 

"Yes and it's good," Baezhu replied. "Every day we keep them alive teaches us something. Even if they are comatose." 

"What did you do in the big exam?" Kahrae asked. "You opened them up, right?" 

"Top to bottom," Baezhu concurred. "Of course we still have to analyze it all, but it was amazing! They're so different in some ways, and so alike in others. I mean, their hearts for example. They're smaller than ours but appear to have four chambers just like ours do." 

"Maybe they're more like me," Kahrae said, surprising Baezhu. 

"What do you mean?" 

"The desert," Kahrae replied as he pushed back his now clean plate. "I've been thinking about it. They crashed one day and were found the next. In the desert. You couldn't survive a night out there." 

Baezhu's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't even thought of that before. "But you can. They're warm-blooded." 

"Or at least warmer-blooded," Kahrae corrected. "Don't want to jump to any assumptions, do we?" 

Baezhu smiled. "Are you sure you're not growing wings back there?" He made a point of trying to see behind Kahrae's back. "You know we still don't know the long-term effects of genetically engineering a new species of Raptor." 

"Very funny. My father did warn me about spending too much time with Wingeds and Monitors. Said they'd rub off on me." 

* * *

"I was wondering when you'd notice," Bishtae said when Baezhu told him about his friend's hypothesis. 

"I did notice their core temperatures were generally stable," Baezhu admitted. "But then, we keep the environment stable. My temperature is stable and I'm cold-blooded." 

"A good point," Bishtae agreed. "And one that we can test once they are more stable. The male's blood has always tended to be somewhat warmer than the room temperature however, so I think our suspicions will win out." 

"Would that be how they survive the cold of space?" Baezhu pondered. 

"Perhaps a leap too far, my boy." Bishtae began to step into his clean suit. "We don't have any idea of their technology. Their skin, however, seems hardly thick enough to stand the vacuum. So I guess they had some environmental control of their ship. It could shield them from cold and retain a certain level of pressure, for example." 

"But without a ship to study,..." Baezhu began. 

"Or their voices to tell us,..." Bishtae added. 

"We'll never know for sure." 

Bishtae nodded and slipped his helmet on. He waited until Baezhu was sealed as well and stepped into the first airlock. "Well, I know they won't be talking today," he said. He had to speak up to be heard over the cleanser beam. 

Baezhu closed his eyes against the brightness and felt the intense heat as the cleanser beam neutralized any microbes he might be carrying on the outside of his suit. The outer edges of his skin tingled and just began to register pain when the beam stopped and the second door opened, allowing the cooler air of the post-surgery room to waft in. 

The routine stayed very much the same for a week. He and Dr. Bishtae would check on the subjects' conditions first thing in the morning and midway through the day. Dr. Burha would then do the same in the afternoon and evening, while Dr. Enesh had agreed to stay overnight in order to monitor them until Bishtae returned. Between checks, the doctors pored over notes, photographs, and tissue samples, trying to piece together the puzzle of these two creatures' lives. 

Dr. Enesh believed they could see in three dimensions and in color, based on the composition of the eye, the number of rods, and the placement of the cornea. They probably also had a wide visual horizontal field, seeing as they have no biological impediments except to the rear. The vertical field was slightly more limited by the placement of the eyes on the skull. In addition, they had no second skin to protect the eye, leaving them vulnerable to dust, sand, or other intrusions. 

Other studies confirmed what was already known, putting reasons to already witnessed attributes. The aliens walked upright. Their spines curved only slightly from neck to coccyx. The legs were longer than the arms, and the neck muscles were placed such that they were strongest when the head was held above the body. Likewise, the musculature of the legs and the structures of the foot showed balance would be carried straight up. They were built to walk upright. 

Which left their arms and hands free for other things. Their arms were stronger than Raptor arms, comparatively, but not as strong as Winged arms. A Raptor's strength was mainly in his legs and jaws. They were built for running and killing with their teeth. A Winged's strength was in its arms, where the vestiges of flight remained. Unencumbered, Baezhu's people could still fly very short distances, though in the ancient past they had crossed the planet from continent to continent via the skies. Thus they were the most homogenous sentients in the world. 

The aliens had neither the arms for flight nor the claws and teeth of a pure predator. Their five fingers on each hand--and opposable thumbs and large brains--meant that they had a level of dexterity beyond any known species. These were a people that could reach technological heights as yet closed to the Wingeds. 

"Dr. Bishtae said that's why we haven't yet put a man on the moon," Baezhu told his friend. "It's not for lack of knowledge. We can dream it. We just can't make it light enough. To be light, the components have to be small. We have to build machines to make things on so small a scale." 

Kahrae nodded, clearly thinking it through. "Like computers. The chips and boards get smaller and smaller." 

"Yes," Baezhu agreed, "but they're still too big and heavy to get much more than a small satellite up there." 

* * *

A brightness melted back into the blackness that had surrounded and comforted him. Sounds followed. Beeps and whirrs in an otherwise sea of quiet. Awareness peeled back the layers of sleep and Malcolm Reed woke up. 

He blinked in the bright light and absently began to wonder where he was. The ceiling was high and white, and it was all he could see. He tried to lift his head but found he was too weak to do so. And then he realized his sight was funny. Something was missing. And then the memories slammed into him, and the beeping closest to him increased its rhythm. 

His eye. They had removed his eye. Instinctively, he reached up to touch it but his arm wouldn't move. The beeping sped up again, but slowed somewhat when he realized he could blink. It wasn't like before. He lifted his left arm and found it obeyed, if awkwardly. He ended up slapping himself in the face, but he accomplished what he had intended. He felt the bandage covering his right eye. It was there. He could feel the pressure of his fingers. He let out a sigh. They had put it back. It was no guarantee that he would ever see out of it again, but it was better than having it ripped from his head. That thought spurred the memory again and increased the beeping, and he knew it for his pulse. He could feel it pounding in his chest. 

But he didn't feel pain. _Now they give me painkillers,_ he thought. _Bastards._ He felt ill and still couldn't bring himself to even be happy to be alive. He didn't want to live with the memory of the agony and the imaginary images of what he hadn't seen. He was helpless still under their control. What was there to feed a desire to survive? He was caught in a never-ending nightmare. 

The machine beside him was in a frenzy as the tremors began to shake him. And then it clacked, his heart stopped pounding, and a warm liquid entered the side of his neck. The machine commenced again the same rhythm he had woken up to and his thoughts grew fuzzy. 

Life-support. They were keeping him alive. The machine, he realized, had taken over for his racing heart. He let his left hand, still touching the bandages on his eye, slide down to the right side of his neck, and he felt a plastic tube there. It pulsated with each beep of the machine. 

The idea hit him and he wasted no time contemplating it. He would not have to lie helpless while they cut him open again. He wasn't paralyzed this time. His fingertips pulled on the tube but slipped off, so he turned his head to offer a better grip. 

He froze. There was another bed a little more than a yard away. And Hoshi lay sleeping on it. A steady beat emanated from her own machine and he knew that they had done the same to her. He let his hand fall. 

* * *

Hoshi had tried telling herself that she was dreaming for hours. She was used to having some cognitive powers over her dreams. Lucid dreaming. She even tried telling her captors that, the bird-like creatures stabbing and slicing her. But she hadn't been able to make them go away or change herself to a different place. Or even to wake up. 

Maybe that was because she really didn't want to wake up. The cognitive part of her mind was conflicted. It knew the nightmare for what it was, but it also remembered when it had been real and was disappointed that it could remember anything. 

Eventually, in spite of her semiconscious struggle, her senses became aware that her body wasn't feeling what she was experiencing. The sounds of her dreams slipped away to quiet with gentle patterns of beeps and whirrs. The knives wielded by her tormentors ceased to cut or cause pain. She felt nothing except a dull ache over most of her body. The creatures themselves finally faded away and, out of curiosity, she opened her eyes. 

And promptly shut them again against the bright light hanging overhead. Then it hit her. She had survived. Her eyes began to water. She hadn't wanted that. Why should she want life when it only set her up for more agony? It wasn't worth what they had done to her. The images of her nightmare returned in vivid clarity to punctuate that point. 

She heard more than felt herself let out a choked sob. She tried to lift her hands to wipe the tears from her eyes but only one would move. It was weak and heavy so she turned her head to meet it. And when she opened her eyes again, the nightmare faded. Someone was looking back at her. 

Malcolm. His hair was long and he had a scruffy beard, but she still recognized him instantly. One of his eyes was covered by a white, gauzy patch, and the one remaining kept rolling up under his eyelid. But she could tell he was forcing it to stay open. He had tubes in the side of his neck, two of which were dark. They connected to a machine behind his head that was beeping regularly. Then she realized another was beeping a little faster above her head, and she let her fingers brush the left side of her own neck. The tears came again when she found the tubes protruding there. 

Malcolm moved, drawing her attention back to him. His left arm, bare and untouched, reached out to her across the space between their beds. She swung her own arm out and met his fingers with her own. He squeezed her hand gently and then closed his eye again. 

Hoshi wanted to say something, but it wasn't so much his order that kept her from it. Her mouth was too dry and her throat too constricted as she began to cry in earnest. She found she was glad he was there but felt guilty for it, knowing that he was put through this same hell. She knew now that there was no hope. She thought before that the natives were nice enough, even though they kept her and Malcolm locked up. She was wrong. And she had wondered why Captain Archer hadn't come yet. She knew now he wouldn't be coming. Malcolm wouldn't find some ingenious way to break them free, and they had nowhere to go if he could. This was it. Hell. And the only good she could come up with was tainted with guilt. Malcolm was in hell, too, and she wasn't alone. 

* * *

Baezhu anxiously followed Dr. Bishtae into the post-surgical room. They were awake. He was glad. While they had gained a lot of data that still needed analysis, it had grown rather dull watching the aliens sleep. Even better than their consciousness, however, was the evidence of interaction between the two. They might just get lucky enough to learn something of the creatures' culture. 

"I'm concerned about the secretions from the female's eyes," Dr. Bishtae said. "Did Dr. Enesh mention anything in his ocular analysis?" 

The male was sleeping soundly again to Baezhu's chagrin. The female, however, watched them with wide eyes oozing a clear liquid onto her cheeks. Her coronary replacement device clicked on and calmed her pulse which had begun to race. "He did see ducts near the eye which he presumed kept the surface of the eye moist. He noted it dried outside the ocular pit." 

Dr. Bishtae reached toward the female's face with a swab to take a sample. "I wonder, then, why she is overproducing it." The female released the male's hand to try and swipe Dr. Bishtae away, but the doctor merely held her arm back as he took the sample. When he released her, she hastily wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Her hand was shaking. 

"She seemed frightened," Baezhu suggested. "I know that may be reading my culture into her expressions, but it also seems appropriate to the situation. She probably doesn't understand what's going on." 

"True enough," Dr. Bishtae agreed. "The hand-holding could be a source of comfort. Perhaps we should move their beds a bit closer. As they heal they may interact more. They might even communicate with each other." 

That decided, the beds were moved until there was barely a foot and a half between them. Dr. Bishtae had reasoned that the affected limbs were on the outside, so it didn't really matter if he or Baezhu could fit between the beds anymore. "Let's get them rolled over, Baezhu," he said finally, satisfied with the aliens' conditions. "We don't want them getting pressure sores." 

The female was sedated again by the time Baezhu turned her onto her right side, bending her right leg slightly and placing a pillow between her knees. He stepped back to check the alignment of her spine and then adjusted the board her left arm was strapped to so that it rested in front of her on her knee. Dr. Bishtae had turned the male as well, so when they awoke they would see each other easily. 

Dr. Burha would be by later to change their bandages, so Dr. Bishtae signed off on their charts and collected his sample. Baezhu followed him out gladly. It was late and he hated the suits they had to wear. Still, he was happy overall. A new stage had dawned, and they were finally getting some answers. 

* * *

Kahrae watched the stars as he watched the front gate with Nishet. "You think there'll be another one?" Nishet suddenly asked, kicking at the sand at his feet. 

"Another what?" Kahrae asked, though he thought he knew the answer. He just wasn't sure how much Nishet knew. 

"Meteorite," Nishet replied. "I hear it's got the Wingeds all in an uproar. What'd they do, find some new kind of metal?" 

"Not sure," Kahrae lied. "I haven't been watching the news much lately." 

Nishet gave him a knowing look. "Too busy thinking about breeding season?" 

Kahrae chuckled. He'd be lying again to say he never gave that any thought. "Any rumors on the quotas this Turn?" 

"Nothing definite," Nishet replied, still keeping his eyes on the horizon. "But with our problems with Buftanis, I wouldn't be surprised if they wanted more Raptors." 

"Ah, but what about _Cold_ Raptors?" 

Nishet smiled and looked over at him. "We, my friend, are a revolution, a step forward in evolution. There has been an increase every breeding season for the last six Turns. We can no longer expect our world to turn only in the daylight. Heck, I think they might start making Cold Wingeds next." 

"We've got a shot then," Kahrae concluded. "I had no marks this Turn. I don't want to miss out again." 

"I've been written up twice, but I still think I've got a chance," Nishet admitted. "They need more Cold Raptor DNA in the pool so they won't have to keep tinkering with the eggs." 

"My friend, Baezhu, thinks Colds could be birthed naturally within four Turns." 

"That's right," Nishet said. "You've got a Winged friend. I hear Dr. Bishtae is really taking him under. And with the doctor's prestige going up since that meteorite, your friend's almost guaranteed a spot. Hey, maybe he can find out the quotas." 

Kahrae started to say that he'd ask when something caught his eye. "What's that?" he asked, inclining his nose toward the light moving across the stars in the west. 

"I don't know," Nishet replied, looking himself, "but it's no meteorite." 

"Yeah," Kahrae agreed, "it just sped up. I'm calling it in." He activated his radio. "Cold Command, this is Kennisatae Research Silo. Unidentified flying object crossing from west to east toward meteorite crash site." 

The reply came back quickly. "Confirmed, Kennisatae. We have identified it. Buftanisian spy probe. We'll take care of it. Out." 

"What do they care about a meteorite?" Nishet asked at the other side of the gate. "Do they have to have every little thing we do?" 

Kahrae snapped his head around. "You think they want to spy on the meteorite?" 

"Sure," Nishet said. "We are at the edge of the most barren desert on the planet. What else could Buftanis possibly be interested in out here? They probably picked up the seismic hit, too." 

Several white tracer bolts lit up from the desert ground defenses. They were anticipating the object, passing just in front of it until finally it ran into the third bolt and blinked out of existence in a brilliant flash. 

"Sometimes I wish we'd just get it over with," Nishet said, after it was gone. 

"What?" Kahrae asked, though he was only half listening. He was instead thinking about Buftanis and what they knew about the aliens and their crashed ship. 

"War." 

* * *

Colonel Gaezhur woke up to the sound of his radio buzzing. The heat lamp above him glowed warmly but he still felt slightly chilled. His kind were not supposed to be awake at night. That's why the Council had decreed the Cold Raptor experiment six Turns ago. It had gotten off to a rocky start, but the last three generations had proven solid and stable warm-blooded Raptors. Gaezhur picked up his radio, knowing that he wouldn't be called for just anything. 

"Colonel," Major Zhenah's voice replied to his acknowledgment. "Sorry to wake you, sir, but you did say to notify you. Sir, we've just shot down an unmanned Buftanisian spy craft near Kennisatae Research Silo." 

"How close to the crash site?" Gaezhur asked, instantly alert. He had left standing orders to notify him of any Buftanisian action in his territory of command. 

"Thirty kilometers," Zhenah replied. "We should assume they got a glimpse." 

Gaezhur nodded, knowing the major couldn't actually see him. "Agreed. While it doesn't reveal much even to us--and we've been over every inch of it--it will likely make them far more curious. I'll inform the Council in the morning." 

* * *

One word reached him through the nightmarish sounds and sensations that had brought him out of the black silence of unconsciousness. One thought. One name. 

_Hoshi._

Hoshi, over and over, until it drowned out the other sounds, sounds of cutting and of alien speech. He hung on to the name, letting it pull him from the pain of instruments and three-fingered hands moving inside him. Sight returned to him and he saw Saruman and Grima cutting Hoshi again as she lay still, yet breathing, on an operating table. He wanted to scream at them to stop but his mouth wouldn't open. He wanted to jump up and fight them off but he couldn't move. He couldn't even blink. 

He could only watch, helpless, as they peeled back the skin on her face, revealing a bloody mass of crisscrossing muscle and one large, round, brown eye. 

_Hoshi._

And then it was gone. The sounds, the pain, the vision of a grossly disfigured Hoshi. In their place were the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines and a white lump before his good eye. There was something beyond that white lump--a pillow, he realized--just past his unbandaged hand that lay dangling into the open space at the side of his bed. 

_Hoshi._

He had to push down the pillow to see her, but he could then see her face, whole and uncut, beautiful still in seeming peaceful rest with her hair down around her shoulder and spilling over her neck. 

But there were red lines on her cheek. She been crying. He hoped it was for what they had done to him--that they hadn't done the same to her. But he could see the bandages on her immobilized left arm which rested on her knee, just as his right arm did. Now he could see the tubes as they pushed up past her brown hair. Then he hoped her tears had been for the realization of what had been done to them both, that she had been spared the full horror of consciously experiencing it. He was at least a little relieved to see no patch on either of her eyes. 

_Selfish_ , he chided. He'd been selfish, wishing for death when Hoshi trusted him. A superior officer does not abandon his crew. Not a good one. And he always strove to be a good one. 

He'd have to be strong now, for Hoshi. They could hang on until Captain Archer and _Enterprise_ came for them. He didn't want to think what else Saruman might do before that time. He just couldn't go down that road and stay strong. It was obvious the natives wanted them alive, so they'd have to back off now, for at least long enough for them to heal physically as they must have done for the time after the crash. 

It was forty days from the crash before they had come to take him for.... Forty days. Maybe they'd give them that long again. Or longer, since the wounds they'd inflicted were far more severe than what the shuttle had dished out. To them, anyway. Surely _Enterprise_ could find them in eighty days. 

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Six**

Author's note: Due to painful hands, I've had to speech-type this chapter. I read each scene over again as I did so, to catch as many typos (speak-os) as I could find. So if you happen to find any more, please contact me personally by e-mail (not on the review page). Speakos are harder to find as none of the words are misspelled exactly. They just might be the wrong word. Also, is no longer taking a series of asterisks as a significant time break. So I had to us hyphens instead. I now return you to Chapter Six.

* * *

"I think it was emotional," Baezhu told his friend as he took the rodent from the small cage in front of him. 

"Well, it is a female," Kahrae replied. 

Baezhu swallowed his food before correcting Kahrae. "The male, too. Just a different emotion. Or she showed more." 

"How can you tell?" Kahrae asked. "Are their faces like ours and would they use the same expressions?" 

"I don't know for sure," Baezhu admitted. "One was definitely different. The female's eyes were overproducing moisture. She tried to brush it away, like she didn't want us to see. It was something she was accustomed to. The rest wasn't just in her face, or his. It was in their pulses, their breathing. As they became conscious they twitched and their pulses raced. Their breathing was erratic. The machines had to take over. She was still conscious when we entered the room. She was scared, Kahrae." 

Kahrae shook his head. "You can't be sentimental about it," he warned. "Didn't Bishtae remind you of that?" 

"That doesn't mean the aliens can't," Baezhu returned, lowering his voice and leaning closer to his friend. "Imagine being the subject of our examination and waking up to all the bandages, immobility and pain of a major operation. What if it were reversed and we--you and me--were on their planet being studied by their biologists?" 

A sour look crossed Kahrae's face, and he pushed his plate away with a grimace. "I think I'll have nightmares now." 

"Exactly," Baezhu said. "The male even started to pull out its tubes." 

Kahrae drew back in shock. "Wouldn't he realize those tubes were keeping him alive?" 

"I think he did, Kahrae. I think he didn't want to live. If they weren't scared of us before, they are terrified of us now. We'll have to take traumatic syndrome into account." 

"To change the subject," Kahrae offered, raising a hand, "I have news for a change. Buftanis launched another airship at us. Unmanned spy drone. And it flew over our little desert home." 

"Here?" Baezhu asked. "Why would they come here? We're leagues away from the capitol and any major military installations. We are a biological research station." 

"Why else?" Kahrae replied. "Our backward little research station just changed the world and life as we know it. Where else would they go?" 

"Then they'd have to know." Baezhu leaned on the table in front of him as the possible implications of that sank in. 

"Or at least suspect," Kahrae reminded. "They might have picked up the crash the same way we did. They might not know a thing about the aliens and there's nothing to find at the crash site anyway. We shot down the airship before they flew over it." 

"Well, even if they don't know," Baezhu decided, "things just might have gotten more complicated between us and Buftanis." 

* * *

"They send drones; we send drones," the same Winged Councilman stated. "You'd needn't bring up every one to the Council. So long as it was shot down." 

"Pardon me, Councilman," Colonel Gaezhur said, trying to remain diplomatic for the sake of his own career, "but a drone flying over Rihansu is worth bringing to this Council since that is where we found the aliens. Is that not something we would want to keep from the Buftanisians?" 

Grand Raptor Ussa broke in at that. "You make a good point, Colonel. And I agree you are right to bring this drone to our attention. I'm not sure, however, if we should keep the knowledge of the aliens from Buftanis or any other country." 

The Council erupted into a cacaphony of mutters and exclamations. Gaezhur, however, was silent and found himself holding his breath. He was shocked that Ussa would suggest such a thing. 

"Do you think," the Head Councilman broke in, "that we should notify the world about these aliens?" 

"I don't know," Ussa admitted, "but I do think it deserves due consideration. Not the populace at large, but the governments--for the purpose of defense. I do not wish to bow to Buftanis in anything, but I wonder that, _if_ these aliens do portend a threat, we might make a better defense as a united front rather than separate entities." 

The Head Councilman bobbed his head, and Gaezhur actually let himself sigh. He had thought Ussa had gone mad. "You raise the question for debate then?" the Head asked. 

"Yes," Ussa agreed. "We have agreed that we do not yet know if the aliens pose a threat or not, so there is some time to decide. Should they pose no threat, I would vote that all such knowledge of these creatures' existence remains a state secret." 

"And if they do pose a threat?" one of the other Wingeds asked. 

"I honestly don't know," Ussa replied. "Buftanis might use such knowledge against us and seek an advantage over us by attempting to ally with the aliens. It is not something to be decided on a whim, but to be deliberated with due consideration to both sides of the question so that we make our best decision." 

"We may have to tell Buftanis anyway," Raptor Nega said, causing everyone to turn to him and stare. "As Grand Raptor Ussa brought up the other question, I bring up this one. To what length will we go to avoid open war? Would knowledge of the aliens be giving too much? It may come to that if they are sending spy drones over Rihansu." 

"Seismic activity is reported worldwide," the most junior Winged Councilman related in Nega's defense. "They probably didn't pick Rihansu at random. It seems to me that these two questions are related, and it is with utmost importance that we should investigate them from every conceivable perspective." 

"And so we have a grand debate ahead of us, it seems," the Head said. "Thank you, Colonel, for informing us of this violation of our airspace. It may proved quite fortuitous yet." 

Gaezhur nodded and bowed before leaving the chamber. He was suddenly quite content to only be a colonel and not a Council member. It had all seems so black and white when he woke up in the morning. 

* * *

Since joining Starfleet, Hoshi Sato had experienced some of the most exhilarating times in her life. And some of the worst. The Xindi attack and the year in the Expanse culminating with her captivity, for example, or the time she and Trip nearly died--or did die--from a disease they picked up on a planet. There was also the time she, the captain, and Malcolm got turned into another species. 

But this beat all of those. With the Xindi, she had hope of rescue or a quick death to look forward to. The disease had been rather quick, relatively speaking. And she hadn't exactly cared a whole lot about changing species until it was over, as it had affected her mind as well as her body. This was a waking nightmare. And a sleeping nightmare. It was horror in a cold, impersonal way that sapped hope in its banality. She and Malcolm were lab rats being kept alive for the next exam or experiment. 

She almost wished she didn't have her gift anymore. Even foggy from drugs, she was beginning to understand the natives. And they sounded like doctors or professors. Scientists with a couple of specimens to study. Malcolm, while going through the same torment as herself, didn't have to listen to them discussing anatomy or the intricacies of his digestive system. And he certainly didn't have to listen to the raging debate over what to call this new species. So far, simply 'alien' was winning as most seemed to think they needed more information to properly categorize the subjects. And Hoshi knew what that meant. Ignorance just might be the closest thing to bliss she or Malcolm could afford in this situation, but her gift denied even that small comfort. 

The one bright spot in her bleak existence was the hand that almost constantly held hers. In an effort to watch them interact, the scientists had pushed the beds closer so she and Malcolm could reach each other with their unspoiled hands. Malcolm's right had been cut up where her left had been. Placed as they were with their effected limbs to the outside, their other arms could reach into the center and meet. 

Small comfort, really, when up against everything else. Except for one little detail the natives didn't know about. She and Malcolm could now communicate openly. No more songs. Just the code, tapped lightly on the back of the other's hand. 

For three days--she thought anyway--she'd drifted in and out of consciousness on a somewhat different schedule than Malcolm, for whatever reason. But in between, they had talked--by hand. He had apologized first. She had told him not to. And then she had told him what she had felt--in a nutshell. _"I was awake."_

His reply was simple. _"Me too."_

Today, the levels of sedative must have been changed, because she felt less fuzzy and tired when the scientists came in. They went about their usual routine, checking blood pressure, pulse, etc. She tried not to be afraid. Malcolm had worked this out to offer some comfort. The scientist wouldn't do anything else before they were healed enough to survive it, just like they had after the crash. 

They did something else this time though. They returned to Malcolm and the bigger one introduced himself. Malcolm made a point of looking away from him. And tapped _"Saruman"_ on the back of her hand. 

Saruman kept trying as Hoshi watched and Malcolm didn't. He introduced himself and then touched Malcolm's chest, asking what his name was. Then he pointed to her, changing his question by only one word. He was asking Malcolm what her name was. A few minutes later he gave up and left the room, without even once having spoken _to her_. 

***** 

Hoshi was crying again. She had withdrawn her hand to cover her face. It had been six days, by Malcolm's best guess. The level of drugs they were keeping Hoshi and him on must have been toned down because he felt less fuzzy every day. And if he got worked up over the trauma of it all, the ensuing drug didn't put him out like before. Less conscious, but not unconscious. 

They had settled into something of a routine. A perverse routine, but anything could become 'normal' after a period of regularity. Saruman and his underling came by twice a day at least. A different set came in two other times, and finally one doctor alone came in the middle of the night. Bandages were changed once a day, and so he and Hoshi were treated to the sight they were denied when they were vivisected. Bruised skin between row after row of stitches on one leg each, one arm each, nearly their full torsos. Hoshi got to see his eye. Once. Every other time, she turned away. A translucent pink salve was rubbed on all of their wounds--except his eye--before they were bound again with clean bandages. And each day, Malcolm saw the improvement in those wounds. The salve must have aided the healing. 

But only the external wounds. Malcolm hoped the internal ones would heal slower. Not that he particularly enjoyed his present condition. Rather, he feared what would happen once they were deemed healthy enough by Saruman and his ilk. Orcs. That's what Hoshi and he had decided to call them. 'Doctors' didn't seem fitting and 'scientists' was just too bland. And a lot longer than 'orcs.' They were working in Morse code, after all. 

Hoshi had spent most of the first three days crying. Malcolm didn't blame her or think any less of her. She had told him that she was awake just as he was during the 'operation.' He had nightmares every time he slept and flashbacks often when he was awake. He had nearly vomited on quite a number of occasions, though the infernal machine would always abort any serious display of post-traumatic stress. 

Physically. It never made the trauma go away or even lessen. Even when Malcolm dared to imagine a day when they were rescued, he would still imagine carrying that inside him, giving him nightmares, interfering with his duties. Even if they never touched him again, he feared and felt that Saruman and his orcs had ruined his life beyond repair. 

So, no, he didn't begrudge Hoshi her tears. Still, as he had, she had grown somewhat accustomed to the rhythm of their present schedule. And the ability to communicate seemed to lift her spirits somewhat. Just the challenge of lifting hers gave him something else to focus on and thus lifted his. She was beginning to understand what the orcs said. He did not want her to translate. He accepted only the gist. _"Medical stuff,"_ she had said. Their attempts at introduction were obvious, but Malcolm refused them the satisfaction. He noted that they never introduced themselves to Hoshi. 

And so the tears had, for the most part, dried up in the last day or so. And even then, she had sought his hand for comfort before, where now she had pulled it away. She seemed embarrassed. Malcolm wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she would not give him her hand or even turn her face toward him. 

He realized why during the late-night visit. The doctor--orc--tended him first, taking a particular interest in his eye. He used a different salve that felt strange at first, almost hot. But after a few seconds it actually made his eye feel better. The patch was replaced and the orc moved on. He finished by turning Malcolm onto his side facing Hoshi. 

Hoshi had gone stiff but for her quiet sobs. The orc, lulled by the routine almost as much as he and Hoshi were, broke into fluttering animation when he uncovered Hoshi's left leg. When the orc finally got around to removing her bandages so he could get at the problem, Malcolm knew what the problem was and realized two things. It was inevitable, and, to Hoshi, it was a horrid betrayal of her own body. The bandages were red with blood at the end where they met her torso. She was menstruating. And the longer it took the orc to realize it was a natural function of her reproductive system, the more in danger she was of him overdoing his response. 

Malcolm did not want to add to her humiliation by being an audience. He held his hand out to her and turned his good eye into his pillow. After a few minutes, he felt her hand squeezing his. Malcolm turned their hands over so their hands would block the view of his thumb from the camera on the ceiling. He had hit on an idea, allowing her to communicate without words. _"Show him it's natural. Take the clean bandages."_

He heard her sniff and then her hand was gone. He waited, still offering her what privacy he could. After quite a while the orc started twittering again, and Malcolm resisted the urge of his curiosity. It was some time still before Hoshi took his hand again and he heard the orc leave. She turned their hands over. _"I think it worked."_

Malcolm gave her hand to squeeze and looked up. She was still teary, but she seemed relieved and even offered a small smile. Malcolm returned it. _"Let's get sleep,"_ he told her and she nodded. She closed her eyes but did not let go of his hand. 

* * *

By the time Dr. Bishtae and Baezhu were ready to make their rounds with the aliens, it was decided that the female was experiencing an aspect of her reproductive cycle. That was based on the relatively unchanged vital signs relative to the amount of blood loss in addition to the source of the bleeding and the female's extraordinary reaction to it. 

Baezhu felt exhilarated. Not only did they finally get some behavioral actions worth study from the aliens, but the doctors had also determined the excess water production in the female's eyes was an emotional reaction. With behavior, they could now try to pinpoint which expressions corresponded to which emotions. He had been right, as well, with his assessment of fear before. Whenever anyone entered the room and approached the aliens while the latter were conscious, other indicators such as increased heart rate and trembling helped to verify that determination. 

Last night's display was more complex. Fear would seem to be a part of it. The female's eyes watered, her heart rate increased, and she trembled. But she had also covered her face and made strange choking sounds. The male, too, had reacted, turning his face so that he could not see the female. 

They had watched the video of the encounter three times that morning and still had not reached a consensus. After Enesh discovered the bleeding, the female's behavior increased in the same vein, except that she took the male's hand for a moment. Something happened in that moment though, because her behavior and demeanor immediately shifted. She wiped her face and snatched the bandages from Enesh only to pack them between her legs. She knew about the source of the bleeding, and her more complex emotional reaction was because of it. That was Baezhu's guess. She was afraid but also embarrassed. The aliens were perhaps more private with their sexuality and reproduction. 

Regardless, the linguist, once he conferred with Bishtae, had agreed that the female was communicating when she took the bandages. He had reminded them all that, among their own species, language was forty percent nonverbal. The female was saying that she knew what was happening and how to deal with it. 

Dr. Bishtae had decided to let her. If it was part of her reproductive cycle, they could let her treat it however she might and observe. If they could learn the cycle, it might even be possible to breed the pair so that their species' development could be studied from conception. 

Dr. Bishtae altered the usual routine and began with the female, offering her clean gauze, folded to make a thick pad, in one hand and a waste bag and the other. She watched him for a moment before taking the gauze. She left it on the bed while she removed the soil bandages from the night and threw them into the waste bag. She put the gauze pad in its place and pulled down the loose sheath she wore. Baezhu then took her hand and cleaned it with a sterile cleaning cloth. She pulled her hand back quickly when he was finished, and immediately reached for the male's hand as if to say all was done. 

Dr. Bishtae called him back over to the male and everything then proceeded much as before. "They're healing nicely, Baezhu, do you see?" 

Baezhu took a closer look at the male's leg which was now unwrapped. The bruising around the incisions was taking on various hues--green, red, purple, yellow--but the skin did seem to be knitting together beneath the stitches. "Adjust the sedative and pain medications down another ten milliliters." 

"What about the antibiotics?" Baezhu asked. 

"Leave it until the end of the week," Dr. Bishtae replied. "We can reassess it then. I think we can start removing the stitches by then as well." 

When they were done, Dr. Bishtae tried again to provoke the male into communicating vocally. Introductions were so simple that it should be possible for any sentient being to grasp the concept. Baezhu observed as the doctor tried. The male simply turned away, refusing to even look at the doctor. 

"I think he understands," Baezhu offered. When Dr. Bishtae turned and gave him a slight smile, he felt more confident and continued. "I think he just doesn't want to communicate." 

"Either that or he's a complete imbecile," Dr. Bishtae replied, startling Baezhu, who had expected to be asked for the evidence to support his hypothesis. "Considering where he came from, I think we can safely say he's not an imbecile. But that leaves a double-edged sword, doesn't it?" 

Baezhu pondered that but couldn't come up with a definite answer to what the doctor might intend. "How do you mean?" 

"We can discuss it outside," Dr. Bishtae said instead of answering. Baezhu nodded and headed for the exit, curious to learn more. 

"If you were in his place, Baezhu," Bishtae asked, once they were in the changing room, "would you not do the same? By not speaking, he's trying to deny us certain knowledge, which may be safer from his perspective. But if we perceive that he is deliberately trying to keep us from that knowledge, the Raptors might use that as leverage. They'll take him and make him speak and maybe kill him in the process. Then we'll spend months or even years trying to decipher what he said and maybe still learn nothing." 

Baezhu realized where that was going. "But if he stays with us, we can be learning even when he refuses to speak." 

"Exactly," Bishtae said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And maybe, by treating him kindly, he'll someday decide to speak. Or perhaps we'll find a sedative to make him more willing to do so." 

"And we can still spend those months or years trying to decipher it," Baezhu finished for him, "only he'll still be alive and we can continue learning." 

"Malcolm," Trip's voice called him softly. "Come on," it encouraged. "Wake up." 

***** 

Malcolm opened his eyes to find Trip's face leaning over his. And yet he didn't feel happy or relieved as he had thought he might. 

"That's better." Trip leaned back and Malcolm saw that he was in Sickbay. Dr. Phlox was puttering around, feeding the animals he kept, and the captain and T'Pol stood on the other side of the bed. 

Malcolm's voice was rough when he tried to speak. "Why didn't you come?" he asked, looking to his captain. 

But it was Trip who answered. "We're not even there yet, Malcolm." 

"What?" Malcolm didn't understand. "Then where the hell are we?" 

"In the Expanse." This time Captain Archer did answer. "We're trying to stop the Xindi weapon, remember?" 

"You took quite a knock to the head in that last fight, Malcolm," Trip told him. 

Malcolm shook his head. It felt fine. Except that he couldn't see out of one eye. He held up his hands and saw that the right one was completely bandaged. He could feel the wrappings around his chest and abdomen. But it didn't fit. Trip had said he hit his head. Besides, he did remember. More than this. 

"We _did_ stop the weapon," he said. "I remember. Some of the Xindi helped us. We stopped it just before it could fire, and the captain ended up in some warped version of the second World War." 

Trip whistled a long note. "Must've got hit harder than we thought." 

"That hardly seems logical, Lieutenant," T'Pol stated. And that was when Malcolm saw Saruman and his underling conferring with Phlox. 

"Then who are they?" he asked, pointing past his feet at the two reptilians with vestigial wings. 

"The Xindi do have Reptilians, Lieutenant," T'Pol reminded him. 

"They don't look like that," Malcolm argued. None of this made any sense. He remembered the ceremony back on Earth. And he remembered the mysterious call that began his last mission with Hoshi and Moody. He remembered the desert and... what came after. 

"Well, maybe the Avian Xindi aren't as extinct as they thought," Archer said, cutting off discussion with his chipped, angry tone. "It doesn't really matter what you remember or don't, so long as we get you back to duty soon. So stop asking questions, Malcolm. We'll get there when we get there. You and Hoshi are just going to have to hang on until then." 

With that puzzling statement, Archer turned and walked away, motioning for T'Pol and Trip to follow. 

"You heard the man," Trip sighed as he shrugged. "See you later." And he, too, was gone. 

Phlox approached then with Saruman at his side while a smaller one took notes on a pad of paper. Phlox had something in his hand and he held it up now for them to see. "As you can see, the human eye is fairly simplistic compared to some organisms...." 

Malcolm awoke with a gasp and found not Saruman, but one of the others standing over him, while another of the smaller ones took notes a few feet away. He felt someone squeezing his hand and turned to see Hoshi watching him. 

He squeezed back as if to say he was fine, but he knew that was a lie. He wasn't sure that his dream was any better than his reality even for being on _Enterprise_. The captain's inpatient statement hung in his memory as did the entire incongruous discussion. 

Why the Expanse? That threat was gone as was the Expanse itself, as the spheres were destroyed. The Xindi weapon had been destroyed almost a whole year ago. Why had he dreamt that instead of his usual nightmares replaying what Saruman and his orcs had done? Or better yet, why not a happy dream for a change? 

The orc doctor finished whatever he was doing and then started chattering at him. When he got to the end of this statement, he touched his own chest. _Great,_ Malcolm thought, _more introductions._ This orc's name was apparently Burha. Malcolm didn't care. Maybe he'd call him Lurtz. He softly tapped that name to Hoshi and she gave him a short, slight smile in return. 

Malcolm realized that he hadn't dreamed of Hoshi at all. He felt a sense of guilt bury itself in his chest as he replayed the dream. What if it had been real? He hadn't even asked about her. He had forgotten her. 

_"Bad dream,"_ she tapped as Lurtz and his groupie finally gave up and left. 

_"Always,"_ he admitted as he tapped back to her. 

She sighed and just squeezed his hand, as if to say she understood. And he knew she did. 

* * *

"When's the next one?" Kahrae asked, passing a tray to Baezhu. 

"Next what?" Baezhu asked. He tilted his head toward an empty table at the back of the eating hall. He knew exactly what Kahrae was asking about, but they couldn't discuss it publicly. Kahrae wasn't even supposed to know about the aliens. His posts were always outside the facility. He wouldn't even begin to be rotated inside for another six months. They could speak in euphemisms in public, but Baezhu was too tired to bother thinking them up. 

Kahrae moved his head close to Baezhu's ear. "The next estimate on the quota," he whispered, throwing Baezhu completely offguard. 

"I...," he stammered, "I hadn't even thought about that. Are we that close to Turn already?" He and Kahrae moved down the buffet, choosing the rodents and fruits of their breakfast along with large glasses of water. 

"Already?!" Kahrae asked, incredulous. "Baezhu, it's been more than two years since the last one. Don't tell me you haven't even thought about it." 

Baezhu silently counted the months and years since last Turn. Kahrae was right. He set his tray on the table and sat down. "I guess I've just been too wrapped up in my _work_ lately." 

Kahrae dropped his voice to a quieter level. "Your work may be world-changing, Baezhu, but only a few of us know that, so the rest of the world just keeps on rolling like before. The next Turn is only eight months away. The Council should be putting out estimates on the quotas every two months, so one should be due soon." 

Baezhu smiled. "If you know so much," he teased, "why are you asking me?" 

"Because you are working so closely with Dr. Bishtae and now he's head of the department...." 

"He's only head where the aliens are concerned," Baezhu corrected. "Burha is still in charge of the rest. And I think I remember hearing he'd delegated the quotas to be sent to Dr. Enesh, who'll be in charge of doling out spots for Kennisatae." 

"Enesh, huh?" Kahrae popped a fruit into his mouth. "And he doesn't work with a Lesser Winged." 

"Not regularly," Baezhu said, nodding. "At least not now that he's staying overnight." 

"And no one stays with him." Kahrae was sounding more and more glum with each sentence. 

"Only the inner facility guards." Baezhu took a long drink of his water. "Look, Kahrae, don't worry so much about quota estimates. They're not the list that matters." 

"I know," Kahrae said, waving a hand as he recited, "'It's the Final Quota that counts.' I just want to have some idea of my chances. If the estimates are low, I might be better off giving up hope completely." 

Baezhu laughed. "I don't think you need to worry, Kahrae. Especially with the growing tensions between us and Buftanis." 

"Speaking of that," Kahrae began, changing attitude as if he'd changed channels on a radio, "there's rumors going around that that drone knew right where to fly." 

"Of course it did," Baezhu replied. "Seismic hit, just like what we detected." 

Kahrae shook his head. "If that was true, why'd they wait a month and a half for the flyover? And for so small a seismic hit? It was only felt as far as Kantha. That's hardly enough to make the media take notice, especially out in Rihansu." 

Baezhu mulled that around a bit. Rihansu was uninhabited with the exception of Kennisatae Research Silo at the outskirts. Kantha was the next town over from where the staff of Kennisatae lived in Bethae Community, which is where Baezhu and his friend were sitting having breakfast. A seismic event of the same magnitude in Kantha might still not make the media. It was really the confluence of the seismic event and the airship flying over that really made Kennisatae even curious. Without knowledge of what caused the seismic event, why would Buftanis get curious a month and a half later? 

"How would they know?" he asked finally. 

Kahrae looked up from his drink. "Someone would have had to tell them, I suppose." 

Baezhu didn't feel like eating anymore. "Who would do such a thing?" 

Kahrae shrugged. "I don't know, but I wouldn't want to be him when the colonel finds him." 

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Seven**

Author's note: Sorry for the delay. Funny thing about writer's block. While I was finished with chapter 7, I hadn't speech-typed all of it. Then any time I wanted to write, I had a hard time because something nagged me to finish typing this chapter... Well, I finally listened to that something. So here it is. Usual notes apply: If you happen to find any speak-o's, please contact me personally by e-mail (not on the review page). Speakos are harder to find as none of the words are misspelled exactly. They just might be the wrong word. PS. Just noticed I was missing a tag so that every paragraph of every new scene was messed up. Should be fixed now. 

* * *

What Baezhu had thought Kahrae was asking about in the buffet line the other day was only a week or two away by his best estimate. The aliens were healing well and Dr. Bishtae had waited only until Dr. Burha came on shift to begin removing stitches. The female's bleeding had tapered off and finally stopped so Dr. Bishtae felt it was time for them to get up and move around and eat food for themselves. 

Burha and Hinath worked on the female while Baezhu tackled the male's leg and Bishtae started on the torso. Dr. Bishtae talked as he did so, hoping to get the male familiar with his words and voice so that one day, he might decide to respond. From the vacant look on the male's face, Baezhu did not think he ever would. They would have to make him talk and Baezhu didn't really want to think about how they would go about making him talk. He was a scientist and sometimes science required sacrifices from its subjects, but Baezhu never relished causing another creature pain. As it was, the male flinched ever so slightly as the stitches were pulled free. 

Removing the stitches took several hours, and the male never uttered a sound, much to Dr. Bishtae's chagrin. "We can't even begin to understand each other if you don't speak!" he told the male in frustration. "Can't you even just tell us your name? We've told you ours and I know you understand that much." But the male was not even watching him. The female, on the other hand, was watching, though she never spoke either. 

Finally, they were done. Baezhu removed the long tube from the male's stomach, leaving only the small tube with the sealing valve for when they'd use it again. He did the same with the blood and air tubes in the side of his neck. Dr. Bishtae removed the catheter, the result of which was the confirmation that the male had a voice. He had not said anything, unless a grunt was part of their language. Baezhu rather thought it had more to do with pain. The female was not comfortable when hers was removed either. 

Two mattresses were brought in and a movable wall was pushed back to create a semi-private area for relieving themselves. Doctors Bishtae and Burha helped the aliens to sit up and supported them as they stood. The postsurgical beds were removed, and the machines were pushed to the far wall. Baezhu and Hinath worked to remove the blood containers and dispose of biohazardous equipment. That done, they helped the aliens to walk to where the mattresses were laying against one wall. Neither had been on their feet for two weeks and so had some difficulty walking and sitting down again. The female scooted close to the male, and they locked hands again as they watched the scientific team leave. 

* * *

Hoshi sighed once they were gone. She put her head down, letting her hair fall around her face like a curtain. And she smiled. Beside her, Malcolm raised his eyebrows in question. "Something he said to you," she whispered, barely louder than a breath and close to his ear. "We couldn't understand each other if you didn't speak." 

"Which is why it's good they aren't speaking to you," Malcolm breathed back. "So this is home...." 

Hoshi looked around. It was basically as bare as their individual rooms had been. Only now there was no window at all, but a camera on the wall opposite the machines. Absently, she reached a hand to her neck--her right hand--and felt the stubs of tubes still in her neck. Her throat constricted and tears began to well up in her eyes. They had not taken them out, because they were not done needing them. 

Malcolm pulled her hand down, gently but firmly, and squeezed it. "We survived it, Hoshi. We have to keep surviving. _Enterprise will_ come for us." 

She looked up at him and brushed his hair from his face with her left hand. His eye was not covered any more, but it did not look right. It was red and swollen. _"Can you see?"_ she tapped onto his hand. 

_"Blurry,"_ he tapped back. _"Do you hurt?"_

_"Ache,"_ she answered. Malcolm nodded his head toward the wall behind him. Hoshi let go of his hand, and they both scooted back so they could lean against it. She tried to fight it, but she sniffed, still trying not to cry. She laid her head on Malcom's shoulder, not caring one bit if it was proper for a junior officer to do that. The only part of duty she was holding on to was the order to not communicate with them or for them. Otherwise, she was just a young woman who had been violated and traumatized, and Malcolm was a friend who had just lived through the same. Though he was still an officer and her point of strength. She did not mind at all when he laid his cheek against the top of her head. 

* * *

The lone orc arrived earlier in the evening than before, just after the heat lamps came on. Malcolm and Hoshi had already lain down on the new so-called beds, the mattresses on the floor. They each had one pillow and a sheet to cover themselves. They slept head-to-head, so that they could still whisper softly while covering their heads with the sheets or simply hold hands. 

Malcolm had been asleep, but he woke with a start when the door opened. His latest version of his near-constant nightmare had him on edge anyway. He pushed himself up with his good arm until he was sitting with his back to the wall. Hoshi woke up, too, but did not get up. She just watched. 

The orc scientist did not have a smaller apprentice or helper like Saruman and Lurtz. He did, however, have something in his hands. He handed a little bottle down to Malcolm and then pointed to his own eye. The bottle was labeled with a clear picture of an eyeball. Eye drops. Easy enough to understand. Malcolm actually found himself a little grateful. His eye was sore and dry and sensitive to the light. 

Then the orc handed him two bands of red material. There was a small device on the center and Velcro on the ends. One was larger than the other. The orc wrapped his fingers around his wrist and then pointed to Malcolm's left arm. He repeated it until Malcolm finally wrapped the larger one around his left wrist. It was rather like a wristwatch but, of course, he did not understand the display. 

The orc apparently was not satisfied, as he bent down and took Malcolm's wrist, repositioning the display so that it sat against the underside of his arm. And he fastened it tighter. When he was done, he stood back and patted his own chest and a familiar rhythm of the human heart beat. Pulse. 

Malcolm realized it measured his pulse and probably transmitted it somewhere else for monitoring. Innocuous enough, and probably helpful, as these people obviously wanted them alive. The orc pointed to Hoshi, so Malcolm handed the smaller one to her and she wrapped it correctly around her own left wrist that still looked bruised and marked by long, though healing, cuts. 

That accomplished, the orc took a small device from a pocket on his outer garment and turned it on. He nodded sharply as if satisfied and tucked the device away again. Then he left, and Malcolm decided he was glad he hadn't tried to talk to him or tell him his name. 

Maybe, he thought, he would just call that one Radagast. Another wizard who helped Saruman, though he was not evil and did not realize Saruman was. The name did not fit exactly, but it worked in that he had points both for and against this orc. He was an orc, but he did not seem quite as annoying as the other two. Malcolm had no way of knowing if Radagast had taken part in the vivisection as he had not been able to see, but he had to think it likely that he had. So he was still not one of the good guys. 

Malcolm lay back down. "Radagast," he whispered into Hoshi's ear. 

"Not Denethor?" she asked, just as quietly. 

"Not in charge of anything, I don't think," he argued. "And Denethor wasn't one of the bad guys. He hated Sauron. He was a good guy gone loony." 

Hoshi yawned. "Radagast it is," she conceded. But she did not close her eyes. "I hate sleeping," she admitted. 

"Nightmares," Malcolm deduced. He had them, too. "Wish I could fight off the demons for you, but I've got my own to contend with." 

She smiled at that. "You fight mine and I'll fight yours." 

He felt better just seeing her smile. "Deal," he told her, then opened his hand. She put her in it and closed her eyes. Malcolm did the same and fervently hoped they could both have happy dreams, even if only this once. 

* * *

"Maybe they _are_ telepathic," Kenu, the linguist, stated after watching the tapes. "While in the beds, they put their hands together. Now they put their heads together. But they still don't make a sound. Well, except when they sleep. But none of those sound like words, more like just restless sleep, like having nightmares might cause someone to whimper in his sleep or even cry out." 

"Well, they're not trapped in the beds anymore," Bishtae replied. He rewound the present video, from the day before. "They've been loose in that room for three days. What about the way they interact? Can it tell us anything?" 

"Socially," Baezhu spoke up tentatively. It was not his place really, even though Dr. Bishtae encouraged him to reason out the evidence. 

"Go on," Bishtae said. 

"He interacts with her," Baezhu told him, "far more than we would with a female." 

"Yes," Bishtae agreed. "But why? Is it just because they are the only two of their species here? Loneliness?" 

"Maybe they're bonded," Kenu suggested. "They could be mates." 

"Except that we've seen little in their behavior that could even be considered mating," Bishtae held. He was leaning against the counter. 

"They may not feel up to it yet," Baezhu said. "They might still be sore." 

"True enough." Bishtae stopped the video and fast forwarded it again. He slowed down at a particular point. The female had gone to the toilet, within sight of the male, but the male had turned his back to her. "If we were watching a courting in progress, he would be rejecting her." He sped the video forward again to a point where the two were sitting together, shoulder to shoulder, holding hands. "This would contradict that. And yet even here, he shows no sign of arousal." 

"They _are_ aware of the camera," Kenu pointed out. "It's why they cover their heads. They don't use their hands to convey the meanings. You've seen the way he ignores you when you talk to him." 

"What about the tapping?" Bishtae asked, obviously changing the direction the conversation was taking. "Have you found any patterns?" 

"Three," Kenu stated. "But it's like they repeated a song, if it was music. Only the end was different. But that's just as difficult. More." He flipped the video off. "Assume it was code. Even a song with meaning to cover a message. We don't know the song or the words. 

"Or maybe the tapping isn't musical at all. They'd have to break words up to pass in taps. So letters. We know they have letters from the insignia on their uniforms. We have to figure out which tapping sequence represented which letter. And we don't even know if all their letters are represented in the insignia. Nor do we know how to pronounce them. Even if we could determine the letters, we still would need words. What do these letters mean?" At this, he took out a pen and scratched ENTERPRISE on a pad of paper. "One is repeated three times, another twice. That's all I can tell you." 

He crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash. "We need a place to start, some commonality. Their names would be a place to start. If the male said his name, we might match it to the letters on the front of his uniform. It contains two of the letters that were used in that other word. Hers did also. We could use images and have them name the image: a ship, a tree. Things they might have on their world as well, like a sun, the day, and night. But in any case, we'd need them to talk." 

"We haven't tried talking to the female," Baezhu stated. He was not sure, but if everything else he knew was in question, maybe the fact that all females were inferior and feeble-minded could be questioned, too. 

"If the male doesn't understand," Bishtae argued, "the female certainly won't. And if he is determined not to communicate, she is apparently following his lead." 

"How can we make them talk?" Kenu asked. 

"That's a dangerous question." Bishtae stood up straight. "The colonel would love to answer it, I'm sure. But he'd likely kill them in the process." 

"And limit their ability to talk," Kenu said, agreeing. He sighed. "We need them alive. They've got no way to escape. No one has come back for them yet. They're not likely to. They can't hold out forever. How long have you ever been able to stay silent? Besides, we still wouldn't have a basis for understanding anything Gaezhur could get out of them." 

Bishtae placed a hand on Kenu shoulder. "I'm glad we agree." Baezhu was glad, too. He was surprised to realize how tense he'd become at the suggestion of Colonel Gaezhur making them talk. 

"Be careful what you report," Bishtae added, "or the colonel will use it against them." He pointed to the screen that showed the live camera feed. "And us." 

* * *

Hoshi was surprised to find she had slept through the night, still with her hand in Malcolm's. It was the ache that woke her more than the nightmares. She didn't remember the details but had no problem knowing the gist of the dream she had had. They had been the same since she had woken up from being cut open by the orcs. 

Orcs. One bright spot in her new existence was that little bit of humor Malcolm was keeping up. She really didn't think she could manage here alone, and Malcolm wasn't the first person she would have chosen to be stuck on an alien planet with. He surprised her. He had gone through what she had and was still strong, still hopeful, and still there to help her through. And yet, she realized, that he had been like that before. When Tarquin had contacted her, she had first turned to Malcolm and not just because he was the head of security for the ship. He was strong but he never blustered about it. For all his love of symmetrical explosions, he had a kind interior that came out when it needed to. She had seen it on the Xindi ship after she'd been rescued from the Reptilians. The captain was harsh then, but Malcolm comforted her while still encouraging her to do what the captain needed. 

His strength made her stronger. She wanted to melt into a puddle of tears for what the orcs had done and were going to do. He reminded her that she was a Starfleet officer. 

And she really wished they would let him shave, she realized, as she watched him still sleeping. It didn't seem right seeing him disheveled and out of uniform. The door opened and he jerked awake. 

The smaller one came in alone, the one who usually came with Saruman. He carried a tray with two plates and two bowls. He greeted them with an equivalent of 'good morning' and then set the bowls and plates in front of them. Cups would be easier, she thought, but realized their physiology would probably not work well with cups. Hoshi was glad to have the water though. And the food. Their fruits were really quite good and she hadn't eaten anything--with her mouth--since the day before they'd taken her from her solitary room. 

The little orc handed a smaller container to Malcolm. " _Ke shanita_ ," he said. Malcolm tilted the container so she could see there were two pills inside. " _Ke shanita_ ," the orc repeated, pointing now to Malcolm's right arm and his eye. 

Hoshi put her hand on the back of Malcolm's shoulder and tapped 'pain' there where the orc couldn't see her doing it. 

Malcolm still I eyed it suspiciously and only removed one pill after the orc repeated himself again. He handed the pill to her while he kept his eye on the orc. Hoshi took the pill and washed it down with water from the bowl. Malcolm finally did likewise and the orc nodded and left. 

Once they had finished eating their meager breakfast, Hoshi stacked her plate on top of Malcolm's, and he took her bowl to stack them on the plates. He moved them to the end of his mattress and then leaned his head down to whisper, "Wouldn't want them to think we're uncivilized." He pushed himself up to his feet and headed to the blocked off area that housed their toilet and a small sink. Hoshi turned away to give him some privacy and tried to comb her hair with her hands. She had nothing better to do. 

About an hour or so later--it was really difficult to tell--a new orc entered pushing a cart into the room with what looked like a thick monitor on it. He plugged it in below the camera and switched it on. The monitor's screen lit up with what seemed to her like a children's show. Cartoon lizards, unlike the two species she had already seen, were counting brightly colored blocks as they appeared. And thus, Hoshi learned their words for six through ten. 

The scene changed and two new lizards came on the screen from opposite directions. They greeted each other, introducing their names. Hoshi realized what they were trying to do and, apparently, Malcolm did, too. He turned away from the monitor and sighed. Hoshi dropped her gaze to her lap. She did not need the images. The orc turned the volume up and left. 

"We could turn it off," she whispered. 

"I don't think they'd like that," Malcolm replied. Then his mouth quirked up into a grin. "So let's do it." 

A few minutes later, the orc came back and turned it back on. He stayed behind a good fifteen minutes before he left again. This time Hoshi did the honors, unplugging the unit from the wall. 

When the orc returned, he was not alone. Saruman and his little aide was with him. The new guy moved to the cart while the little one moved one of the machines away from the back wall. Then Saruman and the new guy hefted the monitor to the top of that machine, plugging it into the back before the little one pushed the machine back against the wall. The monitor came to life. 

Malcolm valiantly tried to unplug it when they were gone, but the machines were too heavy in his weakened state. Even if he had moved it, Hoshi realized they would never reach the plug. It was up too high on the machine. 

"You tried," she said as he sat back down. 

"I'm worried," he whispered back. "They could torture us, Hoshi. I won't understand their questions but you will." 

"But they won't understand the answers," she replied. "This is elementary. They can't teach tactical words and complex adult ideas in a children's show. Besides, I'm not Hoshi." She smiled behind her hair. "I'm Frodo and our quest is to destroy the Ring!" 

Malcolm nearly laughed and had to duck his head. "That ought to confuse them," he said. 

With a sigh they sat back against the wall and tried to drown out the drone of the program as it reran over and over again. 

* * *

"Well, if nothing else," Bishtae said, sitting down now that he was back in the observation room, "we've seen concrete evidence of their intelligence." 

"No mammals on our world could do that without training," Kenu agreed, nodding his head. "They don't want to learn." 

"And that is concrete evidence of their intelligence, too," Bishtae added. 

"How so, Doctor?" Baezhu still stood near the door. He had not really thought about intelligence. He had actually found it a bit comical when Kenu had had to go back to turn on the media display only to have the female unplug it. 

"Why would they not want to learn our language or talk to us?" Bishtae asked. "This time, I want you to think as if you were in their place. What would your reaction be? You are stranded on an alien world of lesser technology with little or no hope of rescue." 

Baezhu thought about his answer and then his face lit up. "Doctor! They may be saying something about their culture!" 

Now it was Bishtae's turn to ask, "How so?" 

"Some might want to share information or bargain it for a better position than a subject of study," Baezhu answered, sitting down in the only other empty seat. "Why would they withhold it and try to control the avenues of communication by refusing to communicate in either language? They may be afraid of what we would do with that information. They may be trying to keep our culture from changing artificially. They could impose their technological knowledge and even try to usurp us with their power. They are doing the opposite." 

"Or they could be spies sent on reconnaissance to see if we are a worthy target for invasion," Kenu conjectured, "and thus don't want us to find out their technology and create a better defense." 

"Both apt hypotheses," Bishtae said, smiling. "Perhaps we need a sociologist on our team to sort out which is closer to the truth." 

"I hope mine," Baezhu admitted. "If they can travel to other worlds, I'm not certain we can defend if their people should invade." 

"Do you have video from when they arrived?" Kenu asked. 

Dr. Bishtae shrugged. "Only security tapes, I'm afraid. We didn't know we'd find aliens when we went out to see what crashed. Their individual rooms weren't equipped." 

"Will it work?" Baezhu interrupted, pointing to the video feed from the aliens' room. "The program, I mean. Can anybody learn a language just from passively hearing it?" He had been wondering that as he watched the two aliens resolutely not looking at the media display. 

Kenu blew out a deep breath. "Passively? I've never heard of such a thing, except, of course, in infants, as their brains are still forming. Purposely listening, with no visual media, on the other side, would take a genius. I can't think of anyone who could on our world. We learn new languages, from adolescence into adulthood, by listening but also memorization, translation, and interpretation, or at least having an image or hearing someone tell us what vocabulary word represents it." 

Baezhu sighed. That was what he was thinking. If they did not watch, they would not learn even the simplest things like how to count to ten or give a greeting. 

Kenu smiled conspiratorially. "But how many of us could completely ignore a working media display when it's the only other stimulus in the room?" 

"They'd have to be incredibly stubborn," Bishtae agreed. "But alas, science stands still for no scientist, linguist or biologist. It will remain in the room, and they will be free to ignore it. We must press on with our studies. I plan to talk with Dr. Burha this afternoon about their reproduction and sexuality. It would be helpful if the aliens would simply follow nature's course and we observe, but I fear they will be just as stubborn in that regard." 

Kenu held up a hand. "That is not my department," he said, "so I'll leave it to you biologists." 

"Oh?" Bishtae teased. "I would have thought you'd be bored enough to broaden your field of interest in light of the fact that they haven't given you one solid word to work with." 

"True," Kenu admitted, "but I think that is something private. If one should be lucky enough to be chosen to fulfill the quota, it should be kept between him and the female." 

Bishtae patted him on the arm as he stood. "A noble sentiment, but if we scientists held to that sentiment too tightly, we'd never learn anything. Come, Baezhu," he said. "I think we have some reports to work on." 

***** 

Life had once again been reduced to a mundane routine for Malcolm and Hoshi. For once, Malcolm did not begrudge the boredom. Routine meant no surprises. No torture. It had been a few weeks since they were taken off the machines, and by now the orcs did not even come around but once or twice a day. Radagast didn't even come at night. The smaller ones came by for food and the video droned on and on with children's programs. Otherwise, Hoshi and he were left alone. 

But they never forgot about the camera. They still hid their hands when they tapped in Morse code and only whispered when it could be camouflaged in some way--and only extremely quietly so that the camera's sound system wouldn't pick it up. 

They were both still a bit achy in the ribs, but their arms and legs had healed well. And that was the biggest problem with the routine. Few people would have ever accused Malcolm Reed of being an optimist. He knew they were not done. There were so many places the orcs hadn't really 'explored.' Faces, throats, backs, brains, lungs, etc. Those things had not been cut into. And the tubes had been left in their necks and stomachs. 

The routine was only a respite. A respite in which their bodies would heal from the trauma of the first 'procedure.' Malcolm had given up on his idea to keep in shape in his previous respite. While it would help him to stay in shape for their eventual--he hoped--rescue, not keeping in shape might slow the healing of his body in some small way. And that might just delay the orcs' plans for the next 'procedure.' 

So he and Hoshi were quiet most of the time and communication was kept to simple things like short questions and answers. There were occasions when Hoshi's doubts got the better of her, especially at night. She'd ask about _Enterprise_ and what might be keeping the captain from finding them. Was there something in the walls that interfered with the sensors? Was the thing that brought the shuttle down keeping them away? But surely, by now, they could have found a way around it. And every time, he found some way to encourage her, to put forth a possible excuse for the captain's tardiness. Telling her so felt hollow and yet, somehow, he clung to what he said with a shred of hope. 

* * *

Hoshi awoke when the door opened. The heat lamps were off so she reckoned it was morning. Malcolm sat up on his mattress and rubbed his eye. He still had trouble with that occasionally, but, like everything else, he lived with it. Both of them had slept through the night with few interruptions. She knew she was getting used to having nightmares. She wished they'd stop but the boredom alone made passing hours without consciously noting them worth the horrific sights and sounds of her dreams. 

She sat up and realized right away that something was wrong. She felt wet. And a bit achy. She pulled back her sheet to peak and confirmed her suspicions. It had been three weeks. Only now there were no new bandages to grab. 

The smaller one had come into the room with their breakfast. She had to let him know somehow. They provided her with gauze before but now how was she to suppose to use it if they did again? She was not confined to a bed with a catheter taking care of her needs. She had to get up and walk now and then. 

She felt her face flush with heat and tears welled up in her eyes. She was tired of crying but also tired of being exposed and embarrassed in this way. Back on the ship, she and the other women had pills that prevented their cycles. They didn't have to worry about it interfering with their duties. But even when they did decide to have their periods, there were discreet ways of dealing with it. Holding a rag between one's legs was so antiquated that Hoshi wasn't sure how the women of the past had handled it. There had been disposable pads that stuck to underwear with adhesive. 

The orc was ready to leave. She had to do something. She couldn't just let it run down her leg or get all over the sheets. Already, the bottom sheet was soiled and would need changing. The top was still clean thankfully and it gave her an idea. Back in college she and her classmates had sometimes worn sheets for toga parties. 

She pulled off the top sheet, exposing the red stain for the orc to see. It startled him but he bobbed his head at her before rushing out of the room. He returned quickly with several gauze pads and a pail lined with plastic. He also had another sheet under his arm. He set the pail by her mattress and handed the pads to her. She grabbed them quickly and, picking up her discarded sheet, moved quickly to the lavatory area. There, at least, she had a little privacy. 

Since the orcs hadn't seen fit to return any of their clothes, she had to make do with what she had. The garment she had been given wasn't much more than a sheet itself. It tied at her left shoulder and hip and came down to her mid-thighs. 

It wasn't entirely comfortable when she gathered it to tie between her legs, thus providing a crotch of sorts to hold the pad in place. But she decided discomfort was the lesser evil in this case. Dignity mattered more to her right then. The sheet she had brought along made a fair toga as she draped it around her waist and shoulders. 

When she emerged from behind the dividing wall, Malcolm, who was still sitting behind the orc, gave her a smile. The orc simply stared. He had replaced the stained sheet which now hung from his gloved, three-fingered hand. Then he caught himself and left the room. 

"Nice work," Malcolm whispered as they dipped their heads over their food. "Very innovative." 

"Maybe," she replied. "But it doesn't help the cramps. Be glad you're not a woman right now." 

* * *

Baezhu tossed the sheet in the laundry chute and his gloves into the biohazard bin, then he quickly washed his hands. He couldn't wait to see Dr. Bishtae. 

The doctor was in the observation room with Kenu, reviewing the tapes of the previous night. Kenu did not appear too interested. He pushed back his chair as Baezhu entered. "How can they be this boring and be space travelers?" he asked in frustration. 

Dr. Bishtae ignored it for the outburst it was and Baezhu followed suit. "She started her cycle again," he reported. 

Bishtae flipped the screen to the live feed. "Already? It has been only about twenty days since she stopped bleeding last time." 

"Could they be that fertile, Doctor?" Baezhu asked. "That would be thirteen times in one year." 

"It's obviously possible," Bishtae replied, though he sounded a bit in awe of the implications, too. "We know some large mammals mate as often as twice a year." 

"How many offspring would they have at once?" Kenu asked, joining in even though the topic was outside his specialty. "If they had multiples, they could reproduce exponentially." 

"We'd also have to know their gestational period," Baezhu corrected. "If it was long enough they still might only reproduce once a year." 

"True," Bishtae replied. He stood up and began pacing in his excitement. "And how are their offspring born? Are they birthed live as with our mammals and in what condition? How long until an infant is autonomous? There are so many questions we could answer by breeding them. And it might just force them to talk or at least act more naturally, by caring for an infant." 

"If they even care for their young," Kenu added. "Besides, how can we make them mate if they won't do it themselves? We can't just ask them, and if they're this stubborn about talking, I doubt they'll just acquiesce." 

Bishtae nodded. "Unfortunate but true. We'd have to forgo natural mating. And to prepare for artificial methods, we do need to do so more studying. Baezhu, prepare a semen collection kit for the male." 

Baezhu nodded, trying to decide which kit would be the proper size. Senemae were comparable in size. "What dosage, Doctor?" 

"12 cc ought to do it," Dr. Bishtae agreed. 

"And the female?" Baezhu asked. With her bleeding right now, she wouldn't be fertile, but they really didn't know enough about her cycle to know why she was bleeding. 

"We'll examine her reproductive system more thoroughly in the next exploratory procedure. Doctors Burha, Enesh, and I had agreed on a date this week, but we'll wait for her bleeding to stop." 

"He won't cooperate," Baezhu reminded. He was sure the male would fight after the last procedure. 

"Take a bed," Bishtae ordered. "Get Hinath to help you. Just get everything prepared until he arrives. We'll need restraints and maybe someone to control the female." 

Baezhu left to gather the equipment. He tried telling himself that it was no different than collecting semen from a senamae. But senamae weren't sentient. 

On to Chapter 8.... 

Back to Gabrielle's Stories page 

Back to Gabrielle's main page.


	8. Chapter 8

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Eight**

Author's Note: This one was typed by hand. And they hurt because of it. But since I was doing it at work, well, I couldn't read this stuff out loud to the speech typer at the office, you know. Would appreciate help with typo-spotting. E-mail me privately if you find any. Chapter 9 is already in the works. Big stuff should happen in it. 

* * *

Hoshi knew something was wrong when they wheeled a bed into the room. One of the smaller ones, Lurtz's aide, stopped right in front of her while the other, Saruman's, pulled in a little rolling table and left it by the bed. Hoshi felt her heart begin to pound in her chest. 

She never wanted to see a bed like that again, and just the sight of it shook her with uncontrollable memories. Malcolm, beside her, had grown paler. She reached for his hand and he let her take it. 

_Why only one?_ she wondered when the orcs didn't bring in another bed. When Saruman and Lurtz came in, she pushed herself into the wall, trying to get as far from all of them as possible. 

Saruman's orc had handed him a syringe and then came to stand in front to Malcolm. " _Tis teuk_ ," Saruman ordered and Hoshi tried to work out the meaning. It became clear without much thought as the orc in front of her grabbed her by the arms and pushed her down onto her mattress. The one in front of Malcolm grabbed him but lifted him up instead. 

Realizing that the bed wasn't meant for her but for Malcolm, she froze. She was still tense, wanting to push against the orc's strong arms but she stopped kicking and watched in guilt-laden horror as Malcolm was dragged to the bed. He fought, but with Lurtz there to help--and their size advantage--the natives still had an easy time with him. 

Saruman put the syringe to Malcolm's neck and Malcolm sagged like a rag doll in the orc's grip. Hoshi prayed he was unconscious, but when he tried to lift his head she could see his eyes still open and filled with fear. 

Lurtz and the orc lifted him easily onto the bed and the orc strapped both his wrists to one side. Whatever drug they gave him only relaxed his muscles. He wasn't paralyzed. He kept his hands clenched into fists and tried to kick them when they strapped his ankles down. 

Hoshi was relieved for herself, which made her feel awful. She couldn't shake that bit of relief--or the shame that came with it--even as she felt horrified and nauseous witnessing Malcolm's torment. When Saruman examined the instruments and container on the little table, she got a sick feeling that she knew what they were for. Her orc was watching too, so she took the opportunity to kick him in the base of his beak. He lost his grip as he stumbled back and Hoshi rolled over, burying her face in the sheets on her mattress. 

* * *

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't happening but that failed utterly. It was happening and nothing in his life had ever prepared him for this. Not his earlier vivisection, not the drowning incident that had sparked his aquaphobia, not the Xindi, nothing. 

He tried to focus on Hoshi, on his relief that they weren't molesting her but thinking of her at all as they touched him felt wrong, dirty. He tried willing his body still, to deny the pleasure he began to feel physically while he felt violated in every other way. The drug only made that harder, and he clenched his teeth and balled his fists and pulled weakly at the restraints on his ankles. 

His own body betrayed him and he was glad Hoshi had turned away. He was exposed more fully than when they had cut him open and spread his ribcage. His dignity was ripped away, his strength sapped, his control usurped. His heart raced and sweat spilled onto his eyelids. Unbidden, unstoppable tears mingled there, and he turned his face to the mattress as best he could in the awkward position they had left him in. 

He choked back a moan as pleasure and horror warred in his body until finally, it was over, leaving only horror. They had what they wanted and Malcolm was empty, hollowed out. He gave in to the drug and let his body sag fully against the bed. There was nothing left to fight for. He didn't even move when they unhooked his wrists and ankles. Someone pulled him off the bed and dragged him back to his mattress. He only moved to pull his knees up to his chest. Someone covered him with his sheet, but he didn't dare open his eyes to see who it was. He didn't care. 

* * *

Hinath was still rubbing his cheek when Baezhu wrapped up his work. No one had really expected that but Baezhu thought it was a little ridiculous for Hinath to still be making an issue of it. The female could not have hit him that hard. She was much smaller and her muscles were probably not at their optimum strength. She had surprised him, though, because Hinath had let his attention slip from her to the activity with the male. His pride was probably more damaged than his jaw. 

Baezhu left his thoughts of Hinath at the lab. It was the aliens that occupied his thoughts as he headed toward the exit. He had never felt such sympathy for senemae or other animals, even primates and other semi-intelligent reptiles. 

The aliens had such different faces from everything he was familiar with but they were so expressive. Given, he had no objective reference for how to interpret those expressions. And yet, some of their expressions seemed to evoke emotions in himself. Though it was subjective in that way, when logically attributed to the event immediately proceeding any given expression, one could infer a certain meaning. 

When the male pointedly looked away during Dr. Bishtae's attempts at verbal communication, his expression could be read as indifference, or maybe boredom. The look in his eyes when he woke up from the induced coma--after an invasive procedure--when taken with other physical evidence could easily be inferred as trauma and fear. The female's expression before she took hold of the bandages to control her bleeding seemed to be embarrassment. 

What he had seen from the male that afternoon had torn at Baezhu's conscience. The male had fought the procedure. All the animals they had collected semen from in their studies had, thanks in part to the drug, enjoyed the experience. Baezhu did what Dr. Bishtae had suggested earlier and put himself in the alien's position. He was not an overly modest person, but volunteering a sample of semen was not the same thing as being forced to ejaculate. He started to feel sick imagining someone fondling him, even if clinically. He would feel molested. 

"Are you troubled?" Dr. Bishtae asked, suddenly behind him. 

Baezhu was caught off guard. "I," he stammered, hoping the direction of his thoughts wasn't written on his face. 

"A bit different than our previous experiences, yes?" Bishtae offered. 

Baezhu let out a breath. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm concerned we might have damaged him." 

"Not physically," Dr. Bishtae stated, nodding. "But it would be difficult to deny a negative emotional reaction even though we can't accurately read their expressions. He clearly objected to the procedure. As did the female." 

"Is it wrong, Doctor?" Baezhu asked, wringing his hands, "to study sentient beings the same way we study non-sentient animals?" 

"Wrong?" Dr. Bishtae repeated. "Not wrong. Troubling perhaps, but not wrong unless it's done unethically, with undue cruelty. In ancient days, for example, subjects were vivisected to the point of death with no anesthesia. We don't even do that to vermin anymore. But we must study if we are to learn. We know so little about them and they aren't willing--or likely able at this point--to tell us what we need to know. We can't let sentiment stand in our way, but neither can we let ambition drive us to cruelty." 

He put his hand on Baezhu's shoulder before he continued. "It's good that you're concerned, Baezhu. That will help us guard against cruelty. However, we must push those boundaries to learn what we must. We do not damage them permanently, physically. That may give them time to heal emotionally. They'd fare worse under the Raptors. Distance yourself, young one. Don't let your concern cause you to doubt." With that, he left Baezhu at the door and turned back toward the lab. Baezhu still had a lot to think about as he stepped outside. 

* * *

Malcolm hadn't moved. Hours went by with no distraction from the incessant children's shows. The little one came in with fruit and fish for dinner, but still Malcolm didn't move. Hoshi hid one of her fruits in case he got hungry later. But the heat lamps came on and the lights went downand the monitor blessedly flicked off for the evening. Malcolm stayed still. Hoshi lay down and extended her hand. He didn't take it. 

She felt him move sometime in the night. It woke her from her nightmares which had seemed more vivid than before. He got up and shuffled awkwardly toward the lavatory. He was steadier by the time he returned and she surmised he had probably stiffened up after lying still for so many hours. He sat down on his mattress and leaned against the wall, drawing his knees up once more. 

Despite her dreams, Hoshi was feeling the pull of sleep again. She wanted to stay awake with him but didn't feel she could. She wasn't sure he would want her to. 

Finally, he started to lie down. Hoshi lifted her head and caught his gaze. She wasn't sure what she read there. He looked away too quickly. She offered her hand again, and, this time, he took it. His grip was firm but not the confident strong of the last however-many months. There was a need for comfort more than a surplus. Hoshi squeezed his hand lightly. This time, she would give him hers. 

She woke up again when the television--deciding to call it what it was in her own vocabulary--switched on again with yet another episode of a Reptilian equivalent of Sesame Street. She tried to ignore them all, but the knowledge was filtering in. She was pretty sure that by now she could carry on a general conversation. She wished she couldn't. Or that she could. That she was on a planet that would not consider her a threat or oddity but just a fellow galactic citizen to learn from and to teach. 

Malcolm got up, too, sitting up on his mattress and tucking the sheet around his lower body. The small orc brought them their breakfast, gently placing a bowl and plate on the floor in front of Malcolm. 

Malcolm watched him without moving. The orc gave Hoshi some more gauze and she reluctantly left them both to deal with her own needs. When she came back, the orc was leaving. Malcolm didn't move at all until the orc was gone. He began to eat as Hoshi sat down. Fruit and water. She wondered where these people got their calcium and what would be the consequences for her own body after not having any for so long. 

Hoshi finished her fruit just as Malcolm finished drinking all his water. He stood up then and walked toward the lavatory. As usual, Hoshi looked away to give him privacy, but, in doing so, she saw his plate was missing. 

The crash brought her head back around to find Malcolm stopped in front of the now destroyed television. He turned and looked at the camera on the opposite wall. He held out his hand and Hoshi realized what he planned. She quickly reasoned it wouldn't do much good and just as quickly decided to obey. She took her plate to him, careful not to step on any glass. 

He squinted at the camera for a moment, then sent the plate flying like a Frisbee. It shattered against the camera but did the job. The camera cracked and fell forward, slapping into the wall. It hung by a few wires but the tell-tale red light blinked off. 

"Feel better?" she asked quietly, relieved just to be able to use her voice freely for a change. 

Malcolm surveyed his handiwork. "Yes," he said. "I think I do." 

"They'll replace it." 

He nodded. "Yes, they will." He walked back to his mattress and sat down. "Eventually." 

Hoshi smiled, her first one-hundred-percent smile since their capture. Circumstances being what they were, she was happy. Malcolm was back, the television was dead, and the camera was gone. It was just the two of them. For a little while anyway. 

* * *

Kenu, Baezhu and Dr. Bishtae stared at the blank screen in utter shock. 

It was Kenu who finally broke the silence. By laughing triumphantly. 

"What is it that you find so amusing?" Bishtae asked. "That aggressive outburst just caused hundreds of units in damage!" 

"Don't you see?" Kenu asked, in return. He waited, grinning, until Bishtae shook his head. "That aggressive outburst was definite communication!" 

"It was revenge," Baezhu ventured to guess. "He was very upset about that last procedure." 

"I would be, too!" Kenu retorted, not losing an ounce of triumph in his tone. "It's a response! They have been almost entirely passive up to this point. This was aggressive, active, reactive! Anything but passive. And yet it wasn't malicious. He didn't attack you, Baezhu, when you fed them. He only attacked the video display and the camera. Think of it as a negotiation of sorts." 

Baezhu tried to look at it from that perspective. "We took something from him, so he took something from us." 

"He did more than that," Kenu replied. "He did take something from us, but he also took some direct benefit for himself." 

"Privacy," Dr. Bishtae said, finally understanding. "They have complete freedom in there now because they know we aren't watching." 

"Exactly!" Kenu sat back, satisfied. "And he also bought them peace. No annoying children's programs to ignore." 

"If he's intelligent enough to work that out, " Bishtae agreed, "and I think he is, then he must understand that we will replace them." 

Kenu nodded. "He probably does. Maybe he felt it was worth it for a few hours of privacy and peace." 

"A negotiation," Bishtae said, mulling over the term. "Very well. He's given us quite a lot to analyze just there. Dexterity, for one thing. His aim was perfect. We will have to get another camera in there as soon as possible. But we'll give them a few days without video programs." He looked pointedly at Kenu. 

Kenu held up a hand. "No problem. It wasn't exactly doing much good anyway." 

"It's settled then." Bishtae turned to Baezhu. "Would you mind terribly cleaning up the glass so they don't cut their feet celebrating their victory?" 

Baezhu smiled. He nodded and then left. Oddly enough, he felt proud of what he had witnessed, both in the alien, and in Dr. Bishtae. 

* * *

When the little one returned with a long pole, Malcolm tensed even though he tried not to. He expected some of the big ones to follow to punish him for damaging the camera and monitor. The door closed, though, without anyone else coming through it. And then he realized the pole the little one carried had a brushed head. The orc kept his head down and quietly swept the broken glass into a pile. He pulled some sort of flat sheet from under his arm and swept the pile onto it before tossing the sheet and all the glass into the waste bin. Then he and Hoshi were alone again. 

Beside him, Hoshi smiled. She was disheveled, badly dressed, and completely un-made-up. But that smile was worth all the beautiful models he'd ever seen back on Earth. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed seeing other people smile or hearing friendly voices. Hoshi's was enough to make it a good day after all. 

"Three months," he said, leaning back against the wall. "I keep going over the crash. I just wish...." 

"You did everything you could," Hoshi interrupted. "We hit something up there. You and Moody kept the shuttle up as long as you could." 

"If we could have made it closer to the trees, perhaps." Malcolm couldn't keep from finding a possible alternative to where they had ended up. 

"They could probably have tracked us," she argued. "They probably have infrared and if they don't they might have smelled us. The raptor-like dinosaurs on Earth had really good olfactory senses." 

Malcolm closed his eyes and pushed back his too long, unruly hair with his hand. "I know. I just don't want to be here any more. I want to wish it all away with what-if's, I guess." 

"Sadly," she said, moving closer to lay her head on his shoulder, "in my experience, that has never worked." 

"Pity," he replied. "So what do we do? Just sit here waiting for their next procedure?" 

"We sit here waiting for _Enterprise_ , don't we?" She turned her head to look up at him. "Unless you know some other options that I don't. The only other one I can see is in that bin over there." 

The bin? What was in the bin? Then it hit him: the glass. Was she hinting at suicide? There certainly were times he had considered it in his life, though only once since joining _Enterprise_. Until now, of course. He'd thought about it upon waking from the horror of being cut open while conscious. He touched the tubes still embedded in his neck, stubs that connected to the ones he had tried to pull out. Until he saw her. 

"Is that what you want?" he asked, half afraid of what she would answer. 

"I've thought about it," she confessed. "I don't want to just give up living, but this isn't really living, is it? What do we have to look forward to if _Enterprise_ never comes? If we later want and decide to do it, will we still have the same opportunity? There's glass there now, no camera for them to see us and stop us." 

Malcolm considered their options for the millionth time since Hoshi fell in the desert. They could not escape. Even if they got out the door and past whatever guards were out there, they had nowhere to go. They didn't know how far the trees or even the desert were from this facility. And they would have a planet full of dinosaurs trying to find them. 

Hoshi was right in that, presently, they had one more option than they usually did. They could give up waiting for rescue. There was something attractive about it, especially after what they had done to him the day before. He would rather be dead then face that--or another surgery--again. 

But when he imagined it, one thing just wouldn't let go of him. Hoshi, lying in a pool of blood, her eyes open, dry, and staring out of her pale face. 

He took her hand and held it up, seeing once again the band on his left wrist, beeping quietly with his pulse. "They'd still know," he replied. "Besides, what kind of Sam would I be if I lost all hope? Or let Frodo lose it?" 

Hoshi took a moment to tug on her band. It did not come off. "I should have let you be Frodo." 

"It's no easier being Sam," he replied. 

"Except he never gave up hope," she argued. 

"He did once," Malcolm reminded her. "When he thought Frodo had died. He was ready to give up the whole of Middle-Earth in his grief." 

"'Don't go where I can't follow,'" she recited. "That was a beautiful line." She took his hand again and rubbed his palm with her finger. "I know I couldn't do this at all without you here." 

"Likewise," he told her, letting his head rest on hers. "So what do we do with our well-fought privacy?" 

"It is only morning, isn't it?" 

"Just the start of another day with nothing to do," he replied, nodding. 

"We could play chess," she suggested. 

"We don't have any pieces or a board," he felt compelled to point out. 

"Makes it all the more challenging! Close your eyes," she told him. "I'll start by moving the fourth pawn from my left, the one in front of the queen, two spaces forward." 

Malcolm smiled, picturing the board and her white figures placed opposite his black ones. "He's on black, then isn't he?" 

* * *

Baezhu was anxious to get back to the lab the next morning. But he was also anxious to tell his friend all that had happened. 

"He did what?" Kahrae asked as he sat down at their usual table in the corner. 

"He threw their plates and broke the video monitor and the surveillance camera," Baezhu replied. "It was no tantrum, Kahrae. He was very precise. He knew exactly what he was aiming for and he didn't miss." 

Kahrae didn't say anything. In fact, he had stopped moving altogether. Baezhu wondered then if he had alarmed Kahrae. Kahrae might be looking at this like a Raptor, not receiving it from a scientific Winged. "There's so much to it," he went on, trying to add science to it, to keep Kahrae from thinking too much on the military aspects of such precision. "Physically, the dexterity was amazing, especially for a mammal. If I had five fingers, I'd find them cumbersome. I'd fumble things. The extra two would get in the way. But for him to launch the plate the way he did, with his wrist, took all of his fingers for follow-through. For stability. For control to put the plates where he wanted them." 

Kahrae finally spoke. "Was he angry? Why'd he do that?" 

Baezhu definitely thought the male was angry about the semen collection but he didn't think that was why he had broken the equipment. "Actually, he looked calm," he told Kahrae. "But he was upset by the collection, even traumatized." 

"Why?" Kahrae asked. "Do you think they never do that on whatever world they come from when they study animals?" 

"Maybe they do," Baezhu replied. In fact, he couldn't think that they could avoid it when they studied animals, at least animals whose numbers were threatened. "But they're not animals, Kahrae. That's the difference. We pushed too far this time." 

Kahrae sat down his drink and folded his small hands together. "Maybe the colonel is right. They could be dangerous." 

Baezhu dropped his own utensil, still loaded with the bite he was about to take. "First," he stated, "he didn't harm anyone. I even went in there to clean up the glassalone. He sat perfectly still the whole time. Second, that's mostly what they've been doing for the last few months. They've shown no inclination toward violence. Third, even if they did, what could they possibly accomplish? Just the two of them. And if they're intelligent, like we think they are, he might just have reasoned that out." 

"There are others," Kahrae pointed out, "where he comes from. We saw the second ship." 

"Leave them," Baezhu interrupted. "We don't know why but it was going away from the crash site. Why would they do that if they were going to come back in force to take revenge on us for studying them? Besides, even if these two are an advance unit for an invasion force or whatever the colonel has dreamed up, how would they call their cohorts? We found no communication devices on them." Baezhu resumed his breakfast. "No Kahrae, we think it was a breakthrough. What he did could prove his sentience. And that was the start of some real communication." 

"He spoke? I thought he just broke expensive property?" 

"He didn't speak in words," Baezhu explained patiently. His friend often got sarcastic when Baezhu had to reason with him. "What he did said, I don't like what you did.' Or maybe, I don't like you watching us all the time.'" 

Kahrae sulked for a few moments then resumed eating. "So you're not going to watch them anymore?" 

"No," Baezhu told him, feeling a bit more remorse than perhaps he should as a scientist. "The new camera will be installed today. And they'll be given disposable dishware from now on." 

Kahrae held up his now empty plate. "Can't break much with those, no matter how you throw them." 

"That's the point." Baezhu finished his own meal and washed it down with water. "You know, Kahrae, I'm really rather shocked by how mundane this has all been." 

"Mundane? You just told me how the male stood up and threw plates!" 

"Yes, and that is the most exciting thing to happen in months." He wasn't bored. That wasn't the problem. He just had to find the right words to frame it. "I just remember thinking how knowing they even existed would change everything. It was frightening, but also exciting, imagining all we'd discover as we studied. All we'd learn! An now, looking back, it all seems rather less phenomenal somehow. So much so that plate throwing is the biggest breakthrough we can get." 

"That's because most of the world doesn't know," Kahrae told him. "If they did, nothing would be mundane for quite some time, I think. And it's because you're a Winged. You and that method reduce every incredible phenomenon down to bland scientific data sooner or later." 

That got a smirk out of Baezhu. "Oh, and you Raptors don't find it mundane staring out into the sandy nothing of Rihansu night after night?" 

"There's nothing mundane about it," Kahrae replied in his race's defense. "We see the bigger picture. My best friend tells me about aliens on our planet. Nishet says Buftanis is deploying more troops to distribution centers along its western coast. We could be on the brink of war with our planetary enemy or invasion by aliens. And all this so close to Turn! Nothing mundane at all!" 

* * *

"The images are clear, Councilman," Major Zhenah reported. "We estimate that more than eight thousand troops have arrived at the western Buftanisian transit stations." 

"What about long-range weapons?" Grand Raptor Ussa asked. 

"Likely," Zhenah replied. "Though they have enough stationary intercontinental missiles to destroy us already." 

"They are not planning a nuclear attack," the senior Winged Councilman retorted. "They wouldn't be preparing to send troops over to our irradiated land. They're posturing." 

"Or they plan to attack with conventional weapons," Raptor Nega spat back. 

"If they did," the Winged held, "we could retaliate with nuclear weapons and they know that." 

"But we wouldn't!" the senior Winged shouted to stop the argument. He lowered his voice before continuing. "We won't because we know that their weapons would automatically launch and we'd likely reduce our whole world to an uninhabitable ball of radioactive rock." 

"We can defeat them conventionally just as well," Major Zhenah stated, confident of that and glad he was only a messenger. 

"Keep on them, Major," the Head Councilman ordered. "And keep us apprised. We will watch, for now." 

* * *

The next few days were thankfully uneventful, though Malcolm could not shake the feeling that something was waiting just around the corner. The realist in him knew that was inevitable, barring pre-emptive rescue from _Enterprise_. The pessimist told him that _Enterprise_ had left them behind, thinking them dead perhaps. But there was just enough optimist left in him--nurtured by his years of service on that ship--to hope they were still looking after all this time and that he and Hoshi would not have to spend the long years remaining them as laboratory curiosities until they died. 

The camera had been replaced the very next day. As had their dishes. They were no longer served meals on ceramic plates but on paper ones so flimsy he couldn't break a nail, let alone a camera. Thinking of that made him wish they would at least provide a toiletry kit. His nails were far too long. His beard itched and his hair was a tangled mess. The beard fascinated the orcs and their masters. They had cut a lock of it as soon as it was long enough, probably wanting to study the new hair that he had grown since his arrival. So he also had an uneven, unkempt beard. 

_A shower would be nice,_ he thought. Even their stupid children's shows had demonstrated basic hygiene. Hoshi and he had to make do with washing themselves the best they could in the little sink by the toilet--if it could be called a toilet. 

At least they had not brought in another television. While they could not play invisible chess anymore to alleviate the boredom, they didn't have to listen to those shows drone on and on. Hoshi understood too much of their language now as it was. 

As quiet and private as he usually kept himself, he wished now that he could talk to someone. Someone other than Hoshi. He couldn't air all his fears to her. He had to stay strong for her as the senior officer. Someone like Trip would be better. Trip didn't look up to him professionally. And he was a friend. He had gone through his own hard time losing his sister to the Xindi and losing some of his closeness with the captain. He would understand Malcolm's doubts, let him vent his anger and frustration, and maybe, just maybe, come up with a solution to this mess that Malcolm, for all the time he had to think, had miraculously managed to miss. 

He shivered a moment as a chill passed down his back. He had dreamed of Trip again the night before. This time they were in the galley and Travis was there, too, having dinner. But while they were eating their familiar Earth foods, Malcolm's paper plate held a modest portion of cooked fish and fruit. 

"We've been through this before, Malcolm," Trip had said. "We are not there yet." 

"But we're getting closer," Travis added, trying to be helpful. 

"How soon?" he asked, hating to be a pest but desperate for a real answer. 

"Hard to say, exactly," Trip answered around a mouthful of pecan pie. "It depends on when we find the weapon." 

"And the anomalies aren't making things any easier," Travis said. 

"I know when we find the weapon," he had tried to argue, "and where. Because we already did." 

"Malcolm," Trip sighed and set down his fork. "I think you need a break. The stress is starting to get to you." 

"How am I supposed to have the luxury of taking a break?" he barked back, "if we're still trying to stop the Xindi from finishing a weapon that can destroy all of mankind?" 

"Take Hoshi to movie night," Trip suggested, ignoring the outburst. And it's point. 

Malcolm froze. "Why Hoshi?" 

"You two are always together," Travis pointed out, "holding hands and whispering so no one will hear." 

"No, we're not," Malcolm stated, standing. "Not in the Expanse. We crashed. Come and get us!" 

Trip's grabbed his arm gently and tried to get him to sit down again. "When we get there, Malcolm, I promise." 

With that, he'd woken up. Malcolm found it odd that he could still remember so much of that dream, and the other one in sickbay. He usually forgot his dreams quickly, except the nightmares which were easier since they were based on actual events. The common theme of those two seemed odd, too. _We're not there yet._ _Still in the Expanse._ Why would his subconscious be throwing the Xindi and the Expanse into his dreams? Why not stick with birdlike monsters in lab coats performing hideous experiments on him and Hoshi? Not that he preferred those. It was just odd that two nights out of the last three months--give or take--he'd had such odd, and oddly related, dreams. 

He rather wished he could run that by Trip, too. Or Phlox. If he could ever manage to feel comfortable in sickbay again. 

_Play again,_ Hoshi asked, tapping her fingers onto the back of his hand. 

_In Morse,_ he tapped back, raising his eyebrows to show it was a question. He'd won every game so far. Hoshi had trouble remembering where she had left all her pieces. They hadn't played since the camera returned though. 

His stomach growled and he realized something. _No food,_ he tapped. 

_Maybe late,_ she replied, but he could feel her tense beside him. 

_Maybe._ But Malcolm realized that they were about to turn that corner. And he already knew what was on the other side. 

* * *

"Tomorrow?" the Raptor asked, surprised, and just a little panicked. 

"Yes," the caller replied. "Tomorrow evening. I'm to come in with the swing shift." 

"Then they would be left without any supervision tomorrow night." 

"It will be too late then!" the caller blurted. "He won't be in any shape for it. And the narcotics might interfere. We'll have to do it tonight." 

"Fine, tonight," the Raptor replied. "I'll need to make a call. Get him ready. I'll come at midnight. And Doctor?" 

"Yes?" 

"Don't forget the surveillance camera." 

"Oh, oh yes, of course." 

"Tonight then." 

"Tonight." 

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Nine**

Author's Note: This one was typed by hand. 

* * *

"Heard anything from your Winged friend?" Nishet asked beside him. 

Kahrae grunted. "Talks about work mostly. I think sometimes that he should've hatched as a Greater Winged." 

"Not at all, then?" 

Nishet really did seem to have only one thing on his mind anytime they were on shift together. "Well, he did for a moment. In passing. The troop build-up by Buftanis means a higher number of Raptors are likely going to be needed in the future. Including Cold Raptors." 

"That's a good sign." 

Kahrae shook his head. "If you can call impending war a good sign." 

"You don't want it?" Nishet asked, changing the course of the small talk suddenly to something less small. 

"What? War?" Kahrae asked in return. "Why should I want war? People die in war. Lots of people." 

Nishet did not let up. "So if Buftanis should invade, we should just let them take over and change our whole way of life?" 

"I didn't say that," Kahrae retorted, not liking at all the way Nishet was asking him those questions. "I would defend my country without question or hesitation," he said, "but I don't want to have to defend it. I dont want to have enemies that will invade us. That's the difference." 

"Just checking," Nishet said, finally smiling. "Can't be too careful with a leak in the silo." 

Kahrae tilted his head. "Speculation or fact?" 

"Educated guess." Nishet began to stow his weapon. "Break time," he said. "You got this?" 

"Yeah," Kahrae replied, scanning the area more closely. If war was in the future, they were closer to it now than ever before in his lifetime. He would have to be vigilant should Buftanis--or aliens--invade. 

* * *

Hoshi woke up when the door opened, hoping for the little orc and breakfast. She was hungry and frightened, remembering what had come after a day of fasting the last time. But the heat lamps were still on. It was still night. 

Malcolm was awake, too, and he pushed himself up only to flop back down. Hoshi was tired and woozy, but she didn't think Malcolm should be that weak. It had only been one day, and they had been given some thin soup just before lights-out. 

Then she realized she was weak herself. She tried to sit up but was so dizzy she had to lie back down and close her eyes. 

She heard something on wheels. A table. But when she opened her eyes again, she was confused. Radagast was there but he wasn't alone. He had one of the more vicious-looking natives with him. And he had some kind of uniform on. 

"The camera?" the new one asked. 

"Off. It's _kefek_ ," Radagast replied but Hoshi didn't understand all of it. "They'll be sleeping." 

It was a trick! Hoshi looked at the camera and saw the red light was off. _Trick_ , she tapped to Malcolm. But they grabbed him before he could reply. 

These two had an easier time with him because of his weakness, and Hoshi's sluggish mind realized why they had been given soup. They were drugged. 

"Hold him down," Radagast said. "He can't fight me." 

It took effort just to turn her face to the wall, and Hoshi felt tears building in her eyes. She blinked and they slid across her nose and the side of her face. She cried in her own frustration and anger. And in sympathy for Malcolm. Wasn't it enough what was planned for them? Hadn't they violated him enough the first time? 

She did get it. Really. They collected semen. They were scientists. Probably biologists. Collecting samples from a new species was to be expected, though she never wanted to be on the giving end of that scenario. But they had already collected it from Malcolm. It did not take much to put it under a microscope. Why were these two sneaking around to gather more and what did this new guy have to do with it? 

Her thoughts became cloudy and she forced her eyes open. She could hear Malcolm whimpering behind her. Barely. She could tell he was trying not to cry out. 

"Does it talk?" 

"Of course, he does," Radagast replied. "He's fully equipped for it. He's just exceedingly stubborn at not letting us hear him." 

"Maybe the drug will help." The new one's tone changed. It was louder and slower. "What is your name? Why are you here?" 

_He doesn't understand!_ Hoshi thought, proud of Malcolm's stubbornness. She just hoped they did not try her next. She would probably give them a tongue-lashing. She might mess up some of the words or get the syntax wrong, but she was confident she could get her meaning across. 

"Blood, too," the new guy said, and Hoshi realized she had let her mind wander and her eyes close again. 

Finally, Malcolm was dumped back on his mattress. Hoshi tried to reach for his hand, and was surprised when Radagast bent down to help her. Malcolm wouldn't lift his head but he did try to resist Radagast's movement of his arm. They were both too weak, though, and Hoshi grasped his hand, hoping to offer some comfort. 

She felt like she was made of lead. As Radagast posed her, turning her head back the other way, she could only let him. He finished with Malcolm and then he and the other left. Malcolm was completely non-responsive, and she could not decide how much of that was the drug and how much was the violation he had just suffered for the second time. 

She was so tired but she was determined to do something to trip up Radagast and his partner. He had done something to the camera and posed them after to match what was on the camera before he came in. Her head swirled just figuring that out. It took all her strength to just move her arm enough to change how the sheet lay over her. It barely moved and she was exhausted. She just hoped it was enough. 

* * *

"I'm supposed to stay late today," Baezhu told his friend at breakfast. 

"What's on the schedule?" Kahrae asked between bites. 

"Exploratory," Baezhu replied. 

"Again?" 

"It won't be the last time either," Baezhu told him. "We can't do everything all at once without killing them." He found himself feeling conflicted over it. As a scientist, he was intrigued and anxious to discover more about the aliens' anatomy. But he also kept coming back to the argument that the aliens were sentient. They were people. Different people, but people. They had feelings and thoughts. He wished they would talk. Then they could explain to the aliens what they were doing and why. 

"What would happen with your work if we went to war?" 

Baezhu wasn't prepared for the shift in the conversation. "War? Why? Has it become that certain?" 

Kahrae waved a hand. "Not that I've heard. Nishet just brought up the likely possibility last night." 

"Are they still massing on the coast?" War had been something on the horizon since he had hatched, but Baezhu had always felt that horizon to be a long way off. If it finally came to pass, how would that change things? Kennisatae Research Silo was very important right now. Before the aliens, it was a low level assignment. Why else was Bishtae even assigned there since he was considered a crack pot? Of course, he ended up in the right place and was vindicated by the arrival of the aliens. Kennisatae Research Silo then went to the forefront--as far as the Council was concerned. The rest of the world still paid it no attention. 

"I suppose we'd keep doing what we're doing," he finally answered. "We just wouldn't get the attention of the Council as much as we do now." 

"And what will it do to Turn?" Kahrae asked sullenly. "How can we breed if we're fighting?" 

Baezhu laughed. "Buftanis would have Turn, too. We're all on the same three-year plan, biologically speaking." He tried a serious expression. "Besides, depending on our losses, you might need to mate with more females to make up the numbers." 

"Ah, one bright spot in war!" Kahrae smiled and took a drink of his water. 

Baezhu left Kahrae a few minutes later with a promise to ask Enesh about the quota. On checking in, he had a tough assignment. He went go in with the aliens every morning but this morning he'd take no food beyond fruit juice. Fasting was important but, as the surgery was not set until the afternoon, they could not have the aliens weakened from hunger. Still, it would be hard to give them so little when he knew they were hungry from the day before. 

What might they do if they were hungry enough? And what if they suspected the reason for their fast? If they were as intelligent as it seemed, it would not be hard. Food was withheld from them before the last surgery in just the same way. Would they be angry? 

He prepared the bowls and the female's gauze and opened the door, surprised to find either of the two awake. The female stirred as he shut the door, but the male was already sitting up. He was at the far side of the room though, covered with a sheet. He scooted closer to the wall as Baezhu came in. The female sat up, too, and looked back and forth between him and the male. 

Baezhu was confused by their positions but decided to deal with the female first, as she was not acting abnormally. He set the female's bowl down and held out the gauze to her. She took it but did not move to leave for the toilet as she usually did. The male watched him closely, and he wrapped his arms around his close-tucked legs as Baezhu moved toward him. 

This did not seem to be about anger. He imagined the male would challenge him in some way. Or break something. Baezhu knelt in front of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, knowing the male wouldn't answer. He held out the bowl toward him, but the male only tried to push harder into the wall. 

Baezhu was surprised when the female came up behind him and took the bowl. She sat down again beside the male and placed the bowl beside her on the floor. She turned an intense expression to Baezhu as she stared at him. Then he finally understood. She wanted him to leave. 

Something had happened. To the male. The female did not seem as affected. She seemed more protective or possessive of the male. The male, the confident, defiant being that had destroyed the camera and video display, was cowering against a wall. Whatever had happened had happened to him. Baezhu turned to leave and glanced at the camera high on the all. Whatever had happened would be on the tape. 

* * *

Hoshi waited for the orc to leave, thankful that none of the others had come in with him. She glared at the camera which kept her from speaking directly with Malcolm and robbed them both of privacy. She lifted the bowl and held it for him, but he only pushed it away. 

She let her long hair hang past her face. "Fruit juice," she said, keeping to a whisper. "You need this." 

He only closed his eyes and dropped his head to his knees. 

"Malcolm?" She touched his shoulder and felt him shuddering under her hand. 

"I can't do this anymore," he breathed. 

"We don't have much choice," she reminded him, moving so her back was to the camera. "Those two were using some sort of trick. They'll catch them. I don't think they'll ever do that again." 

"No," he whispered. "They'll just cut us up instead." 

Hoshi herself shuddered at that and she tried to push the thoughts it brought to mind back out again. She knew it was coming but did not want to acknowledge it. "That's why I need you, Malcolm. You're the strong one." 

"Am I?" He lifted his face and Hoshi could see there just how broken he was. The redness around his eyes gave away last night's tears. He looked younger than she had ever seen him, in spite of the beard and long hair. He looked defeated. "Not anymore. I just can't do it anymore." 

His head dropped again and it struck Hoshi that he _had_ been the strong one, rarely voicing his usual pessimism. She was the one to doubt, to wallow in the hopelessness of their predicament. Through all they had been put through, she had leaned on him. He had been the superior officer throughout, letting duty prop him up when he needed it. Now not even that was enough. Maybe it was her turn to return the favor. 

"Okay," she said, smoothing the hair on the top of his head. "Today, I'll be the strong one." 

He leaned over to lay down there on the hard floor so she moved to sit down beside him and let him rest his head on her lap. She put a hand on his shoulder and let him fall apart however he needed to. She would be there for him this time. "They'll come for us," she whispered. " _Enterprise_ will come." 

* * *

"Something's wrong!" Baezhu reported as he entered the video lab where Kenu and Bishtae were watching last night's tape. 

"What's wrong?" Doctor Bishtae asked, not taking his eyes off the tape he was scrolling quickly through. 

"Pause that and look at them," Baezhu suggested, pointing to the screen. "Something happened last night." 

"Nothing happened," Kenu stated. "They hardly even twitched." 

Bishtae did pause it, though, and switched over to the live feed. "What are they doing over there?" 

"It's the male," Baezhu told him, glad now to have them humoring him. "He's frightened and won't eat. He shrank away from me." 

"Maybe they are apprehensive about the fast," Dr. Bishtae suggested. 

"It's more than that," Baezhu held. "He's like he was after we collected semen from him, only worse. There's got to be something on the tape." 

"They slept through the night," Bishtae replied, starting the paused tape again. But this time his tone hinted at his doubt. "There," he said as he neared the end of the tape. "He didn't move until the heat lamps turned off." 

"Please play it back again," Baezhu urged. He knew something had happened. It had to be there. 

Dr. Bishtae stood up. "You may watch it, Baezhu. I've got to prepare for this afternoon's surgery." He indicated the seat he'd vacated and Baezhu sat down. Kenu switched the display to run backwards and then put the live feed on another monitor. 

Baezhu tried watching at normal speed, but it really did appear that it was the most boring night since the aliens had woken up from their comas. He doubled and then quadrupled the speed. At some point, the female--on the live feed--did finally drink the juice nearest her. The male was apparently sleeping against her. 

Baezhu returned his attention to the tape until his stomach was growling for lunch. He had gone all the way back to the evening before and started forward again without seeing anything. On the live feed, the aliens had finally returned to the mattresses. 

Then it hit him. The aliens did not usually sleep well. They tossed and turned and even made noises that might be words. Beside him, Kenu yawned. 

"They didn't say anything?" Baezhu asked him. "Mumble anything?" 

"Not last night," Kenu replied. He sat up straighter. "You know, that _is_ odd. I usually get something out of them. " _Noh_ " being the most common vocalization. I've still no basis for determining if that's a word or just a sound their species always makes when it sleeps." 

"They slept stiller when we first found them," Baezhu offered. "They only really started being this restless after the first procedure. So isn't it strange that they're this still now?" 

"Very, actually." Kenu slid his chair over to watch with him. Baezhu started the tape again. 

They had reached midnight when Hinath appeared in the door. "Did they do _anything_ interesting today?" 

"You're early," Kenu pointed out. 

Baezhu leaned forward and backed the tape up again. 

"What?" Kenu asked, ignoring Hinath again for the tape. 

"I thought I saw something by the wall." Baezhu slowed down the tape and played it forward again. At seventeen minutes after one, the sheet next to the wall at the female's elbow moved. He backed it up to sixteen minutes after one and slowed the display to one-fourth speed. At forty-one seconds the sheet suddenly shifted and then stayed in that position as he sped the tape forward one hour. 

Kenu stood up. "That's not possible," he stated. "You had it at one-fourth speed. Each second would take four seconds. If she moved the sheet, it would have been slow." 

"What's going on?" Hinath asked, still at the door. 

"Go find Dr. Bishtae," Baezhu ordered. 

* * *

"Sir," a Lesser Raptor said upon entering the Council chamber. He was not addressing Colonel Gaezhur whom he interrupted. Rather, he was addressing the Head Councilman directly. 

Gaezhur realized how important--or dangerous--that was and so stepped aside, taking his report on Buftanisian troop movements with him. 

"Yes?" the Head Councilman asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. Given, a Winged Head Councilman had never actually bitten the head off of someone who interrupted the Council, Gaezhur thought, so maybe this Raptor didn't have too much to worry about. 

"A message from Buftanis, sir," the Lesser reported. "They are sending an envoy under a flag of truce. They seek negotiation with the Council directly--and secretly." Gaezhur realized now that even had that been Head Councilman Gent, who had actually bit the head off someone who interrupted, the messenger would have nothing to fear. 

"One envoy?" the Head Councilman asked. "Alone?" Gaezhur did not understand that either. Either they were desperate or they had some trick to put over on the Council. 

"He will arrive with a detachment of six guards," the Lesser replied, "and the crew of the airship, of course. But he will enter the Council alone." 

The Head Councilman was silent. Grand Raptor Ussa opened his mouth but the Head Councilman lifted a hand to stall him. It was his decision in the end. 

"We will hear him," the Head Councilman stated after a few minutes. "Dismissed." He waited for the Lesser Raptor to leave. "Colonel." 

Gaezhur stepped forward again and the Head Councilman continued. "Since it is to be held in secret, you, who have heard, will be in charge of securing that airship. I want no surprises, but the envoy and his entourage are not to be molested unless severely provoked." 

Gaezhur bowed. "I will be honored, Head Councilman." And he was, too. This way, he didn't have to trust that anyone else was watching this envoy. Zhenah could handle things back at Kennisatae. 

Grand Raptor Ussa opened his mouth again, and when the Head Councilman did not stop him, said, "This would explain the halt in the troop build-up. Perhaps they feel they've escalated prematurely." 

"Why send an envoy for a secret meeting then?" the Winged Councilman asked. "No, they've got something else up their nostrils. They're too arrogant to just back down anyway." 

* * *

Hoshi tensed when the door opened again. Her pulse hammered in her chest. She was acting strong for Malcolm but she was terrified. She very clearly remembered the last time they had been left unfed. She knew that one should not eat before surgery. 

The only one to enter, though, was Lurtz's little orc. And he had food! He sat two plates of cooked fish and vegetables on the floor with two bowls of fresh water. Then he picked up the two bowls from earlier--one still full of fruit juice. 

When he left, Hoshi let out her breath and let the tears fall from her eyes. A reprieve! She was not sure what caused it, but they would not let them eat like this if they were planning surgery that day. Maybe the others had found out about Radagast. She hoped he'd be punished for what he'd done. And she hoped that she had had a part in it. The security problem of Radagast and his cohort just might distract them from their studies. For awhile anyway. 

* * *

"It's a loop," Doctor Bishtae pointed out for the Raptor that stood in the back of the room. "If you look closely there is a twitch in the male's left leg every thirty minutes from midnight until seventeen minutes after one when the sheet changes." 

"Then it is clear someone tampered with the tape," Major Zhenah said. 

"You'll be contacting the Colonel then?" Dr. Burha asked. 

Zhenah stood up straighter. "Colonel Gaezhur is otherwise engaged," he told them, "in service to the Council. He's left me in charge here. Who has access to this equipment at night?" 

"Dr. Burha and Hinath both left four hours earlier," Bishtae explained. "Dr. Enesh is the only one still on duty at that hour, with the exception of the guards." He felt guilty himself, like he was accusing a friend. Which he was, in a sense. A colleague at least. 

"Since he has that night shift," Zhenah asked, "he won't be in for hours, correct? Where does he live?" 

"He'll be in early," Bishtae told him. "We were going to do an exploratory this afternoon. He should be in in less than an hour." 

Major Zhenah nodded. "Until we get to the bottom of this, no one leaves." Then he marched out of the room. 

"All that for tape tampering?" Hinath complained. "We don't even know why." 

"It has to do with the aliens," Kenu reminded him. "That's enough." And that was enough for Bishtae to accuse his colleague to the Raptors. Duty to the state carried a higher weight than loyalty to colleague and duty to science mattered even more to Bishtae. 

"I think it's bigger," Baezhu finally spoke up from his place against the wall. "If it was Enesh, and he did something to the male, he would have needed help. He was a handful when we collected the semen until we drugged him." 

"So was the female," Hinath agreed. "She kicked me." 

"He drugged them!" Kenu blurted. "That's why they were so still." 

"Oh!" Hinath exclaimed then. "Soup! He had me give them some soup before I left. He had it already prepared." 

Bishtae's head was spinning. He'd known Enesh for years. He was a dedicated, analytical biologist. He was quiet and competent. Why would he do anything that required him to hide his actions by tampering with the tape? He didn't want Enesh to be guilty either, but there was no one else to accuse. Even if someone else had gone in there, Enesh would have had to have helped them. And that sounded even worse. 

For the next couple hours, he kept busy with inventorying blood, semen, and tissue samples, files and anatomical drawings, just to be sure none were missing or unaccounted for. Everything checked out. Dr. Burha arrived confused by the fact that the surgical room had not been prepared. Major Zhenah, though, had insisted that they keep any suspicions between those who already knew until Dr. Enesh could be questioned. Burha was led to one of the rooms the aliens had first been brought to and told to wait there. 

As soon as Enesh stepped in the doorway, Zhenah had him detained. Dr. Bishtae requested permission to question Enesh first, arguing that collegial trust might loosen Enesh's tongue. Enesh was led to the room next to Burha, and Bishtae followed him in. 

"What's going on?" Enesh asked as Bishtae closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. 

Bishtae knew that Zhenah would be watching, and probably listening. He kept his tone and expression neutral, both to show Zhenah his confidence was not misplaced and to keep Enesh from suspecting too much. "We've had a problem with one of the aliens. Did you notice anything unusual last night?" 

"No," Enesh replied, seating himself on the bench that was the only furniture--with the exception of the toilet--in the room. "They slept quietly as always. What was the trouble? Did he speak? Or perhaps break something else?" 

Bishtae realized that this was the room the female had been held in. "Too quietly," he said, ignoring Enesh's questions for now. He knew them to be disingenuous. "They were very still on the tape." 

Enesh waved a hand. "I'm sure they were simply tired. We were fasting them, after all." 

Bishtae was growing less confident by the second. Why had he thought he was right to question Enesh? He was a scientist, a biologist. He studied animals that could not speak. He asked questions of evidence, not beings. How does one draw a guilty party into confessing? Or a colleague into explaining an unauthorized and perhaps immoral act? 

He gave up. "She moved, Enesh," he said, dropping all pretense. "The tape looped. there's slightly more than an hour missing. On your watch!" 

Enesh's expression changed to one of confusion. He stood and stepped forward as if shocked by the implication. "Who would tamper with our tape?" he asked, still playing innocent. 

"Only you had access to it at midnight," Bishtae told him. He stepped closer and put his hand on Enesh's shoulder. "Please, Enesh, tell me you had a legitimate reason for whatever you did to the male." 

Enesh pulled back. "I didn't do anything to him." 

"Then why drug them hours before? Why tamper with the tape?" 

The confusion drained away, leaving defiance in its place. Enesh squared his shoulders and stood up straight. "I didn't do either!" he held. 

"You were the only one capable. What do Raptors know about tampering with cameras, Enesh? They can barely run them. You were the only Winged in the silo. And what about the soup? You had it prepared and told Hinath to give it to them. We were fasting them, Enesh. Why give them soup?" 

"They were hungry," Enesh stated. "It gave them something for their stomachs. But it was liquid and clear. It would not have held up the procedure." 

"We can test the soup bowls, Enesh." This was an area he felt more secure in. Evidence and logic. Enesh could not persuade him to ignore the known evidence. 

"Surely they were washed," Enesh dismissed the threat, waving his hand as before. 

"It was Hinath, Enesh," Bishtae reminded him. "Not Baezhu. Baezhu spent his morning examining the tape and observing the aliens. He's the one who caught you. He had no time to clean up after Hinath." 

Something withered then. Enesh seemed to wilt but only for a second, for one inch. But it was as good as a confession to Bishtae. "Tell me what you did, Enesh," he pleaded. "Give me a good reason for doing it." 

Enesh turned away. "I can't," he whispered. 

The door opened behind them both, and Major Zhenah stepped in. "Can't or won't?" 

Enesh didn't answer, but his breathing did come stronger, showing perhaps a sign of fear. He turned and sat down on the bench again and did not look at the Raptor directly. Bishtae backed up. He would not get between Enesh and Zhenah, not if Enesh was guilty. He couldn't, without risking his own death. He just hoped whatever Enesh had done was not worth that kind of sentence. He stepped out and closed the door. 

* * *

The Winged was scared. _Good_ , Zhenah thought. Bishtae had done a surprisingly fair job of questioning. He'd broken down the first layer of denial. For that, he wouldn't begrudge the comment about Raptors and cameras. It had worked, and now Enesh was in a more pliable mood. "You were the only one with access," Zhenah stated, stepping closer. He bared his sharp teeth as he spoke. Intimidation was something a Raptor had in his favor. "No Lesser Winged even works with you on your shift. Only you had the access. What did you do?" 

Enesh began to tremble. "Nothing," he squeaked. "Nothing that hadn't already been done," he finally conceded, so quietly the recording device in Zhenah's pocket might not have picked it up. 

"What exactly was that?" Zhenah snarled to show his impatience. 

"Samples," Enesh begged. "I only took samples." 

"Samples of _what_?" 

"Semen," he squeaked again. 

_Progress is progress,_ Zhenah thought, wondering what direction this was going to take them. He had his suspicions, but they could be all unfounded. Still, he knew how to push to find out. "Why?" he asked. "Have these long nights alone tempted you with a new fetish?" 

Enesh reacted as if he'd been slapped, jerking back on the bench. "I need it for study," he replied, with more confidence than during this whole inquiry thus far. 

"I see," Zhenah said, backing up, lessening the threat of his presence. Enesh had confessed this much. He would admit more. "According to records, it took two of you and a Lesser to subdue him the first time. The male reacted by breaking equipment. Now Bishtae says he's curled up like an embryo on the floor. Personally, I don't care how he reacted, but you Wingeds have certain ethical standards for the treatment of subjects." 

"I didn't harm him!" 

"Mentally, emotionally, you did. The other Wingeds agree. Cruelty in a scientist. How unprofessional!" He stepped forward again. "And still, it does not address my greater concern. Who helped you subdue him?" 

"He was drugged," Enesh replied, openly admitting it since now he thought it mattered less to Zhenah. "I didn't need any help." 

Zhenah smirked. "Drugged into that much of a stupor, he probably wouldn't have responded. And you would have skewed your sample. I haven't been assigned to this silo for twenty years without learning anything of science, Doctor." Now he affected a conspiratorial tone and leaned in close to Enesh's ear. "You had help. Who?" 

"No one else was even here!" Enesh held. "You even said that yourself." 

"I said no Lesser Wingeds," Zhenah reminded him. "And Bishtae said no Wingeds were here. There were Raptors here. Why protect him? Doing so won't keep you from being executed for treason." 

Enesh paled. Which wasn't an easy feet for a reptiloid. "Treason!" 

Zhenah stood up. "Oh yes. The aliens are a matter of national security." He turned away, took a step in the direction of the door. "Besides, it's apparent Buftanis knew where to send their drones." He spun back around. "Because you told them!" 

"Told them?" Enesh squeaked again, sounding far less blustery in tone than his words implied. "How do you connect taking an unauthorized semen sample with telling Buftanis anything?" 

"How do _you?_ " Zhenah countered, unperturbed. "Who helped you?" 

"No one helped me! And I've never told Buftanis anything! You can check my communications." 

"We are," Zhenah assured him. "And we'll check your computer records. Your password, please." He held out a pad of paper and a pen to the doctor. "If you are not a traitor, you have nothing but an unauthorized semen collection to hide. And that's already out." 

Enesh sighed and wrote on the pad before handing it back. Zhenah read it. _New life._ He wondered if that was a reference to the aliens or something more sinister? It was just vague enough to work either way. "I'll take your keys as well, Doctor." 

Enesh didn't even bother to raise his head as he pulled the keys from his pocket. 

Zhenah had enough for now. He needed to search the Winged's quarters anyway. Enesh was likely all too familiar with the Raptors' repertoire of interrogation methods. A night thinking about them might do him some good. "We'll talk later, Doctor," he said. "And trust me, you _will_ tell us everything." 

* * *

Baezhu knew Kahrae had come in to the research silo the night before, but he was not allowed to see anyone but the doctors who had reported the discrepancy, Kenu, Hinath, and the aliens. Burha and the six guards who had been on duty two nights before were held in separate examination rooms in the east wing. Enesh was removed from the silo altogether and taken to the military station at Bethae Community. 

Baezhu ate breakfast with Hinath and Kenu rather than his best friend. The food was of lesser quality as was the company. Military rations of dried meat and fruit with water to wash it down. It wasn't terrible. It just wasn't as good as fresh food like he and Kahrae would have back in the cafeteria. 

The aliens, at least, had had their regular meals. The male had finally started eating again at breakfast, thus inadvertently saving himself from being force-fed. He still acted sullen, which was saying something, given how little the two normally moved. 

Major Zhenah was now questioning the guards. Baezhu knew that Kahrae wouldn't have any part in Enesh's deed, but anytime the military questioned someone there was cause for worry. 

Dr. Bishtae was not in this morning. Zhenah had sent him with an escort to Enesh's quarters back in Bethae to see if they could find any evidence there. Baezhu thought maybe he should feel sorry for Enesh. His career was over, and, depending on his true motives, he was either going to lose his freedom or his life. But Baezhu found himself feeling vindicated more than sympathetic. He was glad that the alien's assailant had been caught, and he was anxious for the accomplice who helped Enesh to be caught, too. 

He even told the male as much that morning, for all the good it did. He had even assured him that Dr. Bishtae felt they had enough semen to study for some time and would likely not require any more from him. Though he had left out Dr. Bishtae's exception. If they did try to breed the two by artificial insemination, they would likely need more. 

He tried to focus on watching them with Kenu the rest of the day and finishing reports for Dr. Bishtae, but it only seemed like the hours crawled by. The aliens hardly moved, and the day was completely interrupted by the investigation. 

* * *

Malcolm hadn't understood anything the little orc had said until Hoshi filled him in with whispers later. But when she had, he realized the sincerity that had been in the orc's voice and tone. He had apologized. He had seemed both angry and embarrassed at the same time. 

It was odd and Malcolm found himself with conflicted emotions. His logical mind could tell him that they were scientists, not evil beings bent on torture. They probably had not even realized he and Hoshi were conscious when they were cut open. Until the night before, the Wingeds had treated them with analytical detachment rather than any sort of malice. 

His heart was still reeling, however, from the violation of the night before--and a few days before that. How could the orcs do such things to him and then come in and apologize? That one told him that Radagast--He needed a new code name for that one--had been taken away for punishment. It seemed so incongruous that they could be so concerned over his feelings because the procedure wasn't authorized when they weren't concerned at all the first time just because it was. 

Hoshi was napping beside him. He just could not sleep. Not from boredom. Only when exhaustion took him late into the night could he finally lose himself to his nightmares. 

He hated feeling this way. He remembered it, too. Weak. He couldnt fight off the three bullies who had nearly drowned him in his childhood. They had laughed as they pushed his head under the water. He remembered the faces of the other students when they looked at him after he returned to school. Pity. He hated the way their pity made him feel small and vulnerable. 

And that was how he felt here amongst giant winged reptiles who could cut him open or violate him so intimately and leave him a broken mess of a man. He hated for Hoshi to see him like that. He hated being like that. He hated them for bringing him to that, and that in time, they might bring Hoshi there, too. 

* * *

The envoy arrived with surprisingly little ceremony. Gaezhur had the airship zone sealed securely as the airship landed. The crew was told to stay aboard at all times. Only the envoy and his personal guards disembarked. He was a Winged. 

They had all ridden in silence to the Council Complex in Zhelm, the capital city. The streets along their path had been cleared as had the entire complex. Only security personnel under Gaezhur's charge and the Council members themselves would be present. 

As he escorted the envoy into the Council chambers, Gaezhur hoped this whole meeting would be over soon. He didn't know what the meeting would portend for the nation, but he had heard from Major Zhenah about Dr. Enesh's duplicity back at Kennisatae. Zhenah had even found his likely accomplice, one of the Cold Raptors under Gaezhur's command. Only Enesh had confessed thus far, and only to taking an unauthorized semen sample. Gaezhur wanted to be back there getting it from them. He knew in his gut it was more than private study or perversity on Enesh's part. It was treason. He just wasn't certain how yet. 

The envoy introduced himself to the Council as Genad and got straight to the point. His Zheiren was perfect if heavily accented when he spoke. "You have a traitor at Kennisatae Research Silo. Do not harm him." 

So it was treason! He had suspected a leak to Buftanis but no one had expected one of the scientists who were beside themselves over their new pet projects. Until, of course, Enesh had been caught taking his interests too far. 

Still, who was this Genad to tell them what to do or not do with traitors? 

Apparently, Grand Raptor Ussa felt the same way. "Who are you to tell us what to do with a traitor?" he spat, standing from his seat. 

"I am an envoy of your enemy," Genad stated evenly. 

"If there is a traitor," the Head Councilman said, just as calmly, "then name him." 

Gaezhur waited to hear his suspicions fully confirmed. 

Genad bowed his head to the Head Councilman. "Enesh, a Winged biologist," he replied. "You no doubt are also holding Nishet, a Cold Raptor." 

"Another traitor?" the Head Councilman asked. 

"Impossible!" Ussa blustered. "Raptors are the defenders of this nation!" 

Genad now bowed slightly toward Ussa. "Nishet is no traitor. He is a loyal patriot. Just not one of yours." 

While Ussa choked in his vehemence, Gaezhur replayed Genad's carefully chosen words in his mind. _No doubt_ when applied to Nishet. _You are_ when applied to Enesh. They knew Enesh was being held but only suspected their spy had been caught. So the spy was the likely one to tell them of Enesh. Even then Enesh was caught only yesterday. The envoy had been sent before the two were detained. 

"We would never allow a Buftanisian spy into our ranks!" Ussa was yelling. 

The Head Councilman raised a hand. "Envoy Genad did not come this great distance to save a traitor and a spy. Did he?" Winged or not, the Head Councilman was a quick-thinker. 

"I did not," Genad replied, bowing again. "Hold them unharmed, if you would, until our negotiations have concluded. If you are not satisfied then, I shall say no more on the matter." 

The Head Councilman nodded. "Colonel." He waited until Gaezhur stepped forward. "See to it they are held unharmed until further notice." 

It galled him that either should be pandered to just because this envoy had asked, but bigger issues were in the balance. He kept his tongue and nodded. He hoped the Council would not be satisfied so he could personally stake the both of them. He relayed the orders to a lieutenant and returned his attention to the envoy. He was quite certain now that he knew why the envoy had come. 

"Thank you," Genad said. "Now I'll be direct: You have aliens in your possession. A male and a female pair, from a vessel that crashed in your Rihansu desert. We are somewhat miffed that you have neglected to share this incredible news with us. The rest of the world may feel equally miffed." 

"Humph," Gaezhur smirked too quietly for the Council--or the envoy--to hear. The rest of the world would fall into chaos if they suddenly found out there were real aliens from another planet. Even telling the masses of Zheiren alone would bring panic. 

"We have not shared this news with our own people," the Head Councilman stated, keeping a calm, detached toned. Gaezhur had thought he might try to deny the aliens but seeing as Enesh and Nishet were working for Buftanis, there was little point. "Surely Buftanis would not wish such a calamity to befall all the inhabitants of this world should they suddenly discover we are not unique in the universe." 

"We see the wisdom in withholding such knowledge," Genad agreed. "However, we _do_ know and should Zheiren insist on selfishly keeping all knowledge of them to itself, perhaps the international community should be enlightened. We only need tell the government leaders, of the more prominent states, that you have had these aliens--alive--for several months. Harboring or hoarding. Neither would likely earn you favor. 

"Imagine," he went on, "if you would, the gathered body of the major states' diplomats pondering what you might be hiding, why you might be keeping them secret. An alliance perhaps? With the aliens and their superior technology? Even if no alliance, the technology in their space ship alone might give Zheiren the power to overthrow us all. Imagine what a clamor that might cause!" 

"There is no technology," Ussa spat out, "as I am sure you are aware. The ship was destroyed." 

"There is technology," Genad argued. "And we might be willing to share that knowledge if you are willing to grant us a concession." 

"What sort of concession would you be suggesting?" the Head Councilman asked, keeping his temper far better than Ussa. Buftanis had them in a box and he understood it as well as Gaezhur. Gaezhur was confident in the Raptors of Zheiren to take on Buftanis. But an alliance between Buftanis and even two of the more prominent states would bring victory into question. Buftanis' lies could bring a full world war. 

"You have two of them," Genad replied. "We would take the lesser of the two. You would have the male. We will settle for the female--and certain genetic samples from the male, collected by Dr. Enesh already. We will study the female and the reproductive cycle of the species. We will share with you what we learn. You will share with us what you learn from your studies of the male." He held up a hand before Ussa could bluster more. "And we will give you the location of the aliens' technology." 

The Council was silent for a moment, giving Gaezhur time to think. If he were on the Council, how would he vote? If they refused, war would come swiftly as Buftanis would goad the other states with lies and innuendo. If they conceded, they would only lose the female and some dignity. Still, he hated to concede anything to the big-headed Buftanisians. It galled him that they had planted a spy in his ranks and he hadn't realized it. And that spy might likely get away without punishment, along with the traitor, Enesh. 

Finally, the Head Councilman ordered him to accompany Genad out of the chamber while the Council debated. Gaezhur bowed his head and gestured for the envoy to precede him out to the corridor. He sat the envoy on a bench and stepped a few paces away, ordering one of the security officers there to put through a call to Major Zhenah. If Nishet was a spy, how many others might be? Was he really that careless with his command? Or did it just mean the Buftanisians were craftier than they were credited as being? Neither option was appealing. 

The envoy sat ramrod straight though his head followed Gaezhur as he paced. He did not appear worried about the outcome of the Council's deliberations. And of course, Gaezhur thought, he needn't be. Buftanis would win in either case. They had played well. Better than Zheiren in this round. 

One of the lesser Council members opened the door to call them back in. Less than ten minutes had passed. 

"I trust you have come to a decision?" Genad said, bowing his head in deference to the Head Councilman. 

"We have," the latter replied. "We will grant your concession. You will take the female alien with samples of blood and semen collected by Dr. Enesh. We will take the location of the technology." 

"I shall deliver it when you deliver the female to my air ship," Genad said. "I would also request Dr. Enesh and Nishet. I'm certain you no longer have need of the latter, and we do greatly have need of the former. Without his knowledge, we would have to start over completely, thus slowing discovery for both our countries." 

"Enesh you may have," the Head Councilman decided. "But Nishet stays with us." 

Gaezhur struggled to keep his face devoid of the emotion. Inside, however, he was elated with that little counter-strike. Whether it upset the envoy, he could not tell. 

Genad only tilted his head slightly. "May I ask why?" 

"May I ask," the Head Councilman returned, leaning slightly forward to add presence to his weighty tone, "what Buftanis would do if it found a foreign spy in its ranks? Were he ours, would you politely hand him over to us?" 

"I see your point." Genad bowed again. "Buftanis agrees to these terms." 

"Zheiren agrees to these terms," the Head Councilman repeated. "We shall have the papers drawn up by tomorrow. The transfer shall take place in two days." 

Genad bowed once more and was dismissed. Once again, they rode in silence back to the envoy's air ship. But before he ascended the stairs to the door, he stopped and faced Gaezhur. "Give my regards to Nishet. His sacrifice will be remembered in Buftanis." 

"He'll die without ever hearing those words," Gaezhur promised in the same polite tone Genad had used. "Giving him comfort is no part of our deal." 

Genad sighed but only dipped his head and turned away. The door closed behind him and Gaezhur was left to his thoughts. Zhenah had given him a status report as he left the chamber. Enesh and Nishet were moved to a secure and isolated facility. They had no contact with each other. _Let them stew_ , he thought. Enesh at least. Nishet could do with some interrogation. Zhenah could see to that. But in just two days, Gaezhur would be back in action. He'd search for the alien technology and tear Nishet to shreds. 

* * *

Kahrae was finally freed from confinement one hour before Baezhu's shift would end. He, himself, was able to leave for home now that the mystery was solved. It was still a shock. Colonel Gaezhur had contacted Major Zhenah to tell him to hold Enesh and Nishet with no harm until further notice. Nishet had been Kahrae's partner at guard duty for the last few months. Baezhu had a hard time with that. 

But not as hard as Kahrae. Dr. Bishtae let Baezhu take off early so he could talk with his friend again. They sat in the small break room at the silo with three other Cold Raptors who, like Kahrae, would be on duty soon. 

"Nishet?" Kahrae asked as Baezhu filled him in with the scant few details that had trickled down from Major Zhenah. "I can't believe he is Buftanisian. A spy? Most of the time he just wanted to talk about Turn." 

"He did tell you about Buftanis's troop movements," Baezhu pointed out. 

Kahrae shook his head. "Still, a Buftanisian! He stood right out there with me every night, guarding against Buftanisians!" 

"I can't believe he turned Dr. Enesh," Baezhu said, leaving Kahrae to his bewilderment. "What do you suppose they'll do with them?" 

"Gaezhur will either gut them alive or stake them out at Yekina." 

Baezhu tried to suppress a shudder at that name. Yekina was a gorge in Rihansu where an ancient river had cut a sharp cliff in the bedrock on one side facing the sunrise. The solar station that powered Kennisatae Research Silo sat on the plateau above. Several high profile criminals had been executed there since the Revolution. Those convicted of treason against the state, mostly. The lucky ones were executed after being staked to the cliff. Bana, the assassin who had killed the third Head Councilman nearly eighty years ago, had taken three days to die. While Kennisatae Research Silo went without notice in most educational facilities, every youth in early school learned about Yekina and the more prominent of the traitors, like Bana, who had been executed there. 

"It's hard to think of someone I knew being taken out there," Baezhu admitted. "What could Nishet have promised Enesh to make him willing to work for Buftanis?" 

"We may never know," Kahrae replied, sulking. "Even if they're forced to tell before the execution. Which doesn't seem likely if they're being detained without harm. What is that about?" 

"Major Zhenah didn't seem happy about that either," Baezhu told him. "I don't think he even knows why." 

Dr. Bishtae suddenly stepped in. "Ah, Baezhu. I'm glad you havent left yet. I'm sorry to rescind your early departure but we have new orders." 

Kahrae nodded. "Go, we'll talk again at breakfast." 

Baezhu bowed his head to his friend and followed Bishtae back to his office. Bishtae closed the door. 

"We're losing one of them," Bishtae stated. His jaw was clenched tight and his voice came out harsh despite his pleasantness back in the break room. 

"What?" Baezhu asked, understanding that he meant one of the aliens. Bishtae would not care so much what happened to the prisoners now. "What has happened?" 

"Enesh," Bishtae replied. "That weak-minded traitor. He's taking the female to Buftanis. I have not been told the details but I can guess a deal was cut. And it doesn't appear we came out on the winning side." 

Baezhu couldn't reply. He had no words for his tumbling thoughts. A deal? Buftanis? Enesh would live and defect? He'd take the female with him. That part was coherent. 

Bishtae blew out a long breath. "Well, orders are orders. We can only obey. We are to sedate her for the transport in two days. In the meantime, we need to copy all our data." 

"We're giving them that, too?" Baezhu couldn't believe the concessions the Council must have given to Buftanis. And he couldn't even come close to understanding why. Buftanis had been caught spying. They should have been the ones giving concessions. 

"Enesh probably sent them all of it anyway, but for the sake of accuracy...," Bishtae continued as if not hearing Baezhu. "We are to give them monthly reports! To work with their scientists, sharing our findings." 

"What about the male?" Baezhu asked. "He will not like the separation." 

"We'll proceed with the exploratory," Bishtae answered. "He'll be sedated. When he wakes up, she'll be gone and he'll be in no condition to protest much." 

"Two days?" Baezhu repeated, trying to see how they would accomplish everything in so short a time. 

"Fast them tomorrow," Bishtae ordered. "Nothing but water. Start with the records tonight and then go home. We'll have a busy day tomorrow." 

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Ten**

Author's Note: This one was typed by hand. PS: And yet some speako-like typos existed. Fixed a few. Also, I hearby admit my distaste for research. I'd so much rather just know everything upfront. Why do I confess? Because I original wrote about an "anterior" exploration when it was really "posterior", which I now know after--ahem--researching for another such exploration in Chapter 12. It is now fixed. 

* * *

Colonel Gaezhur led the prisoner into the tribunal chamber hastily set up in the officers' mess. Two Greater Raptors held Nishet between them, half-dragging him through the door. Gaezhur himself would be acting as accuser. There would be no defense. Buftanis's envoy had specifically named him as their spy. Nishet could not deny the charge. 

Grand Raptor Ussa had requested to personally preside over the tribunal. He and two other senior Raptors would decide Nishet's fate. 

"Colonel Gaezhur," Ussa stated formally, "present your case." 

Gaezhur motioned the guards forward, and they brought the spy up. "Nishet, a Cold Raptor, stationed at Kennisatae Research Silo is accused of espionage in the employ of Buftanis." 

"State your evidence," Ussa said, glowering at Nishet. 

"He informed his guard partner of Buftanisian troop movements not publicly known," Gaezhur began, starting with the least damning evidence. It was all really just a formality. Nishet was guilty and would be convicted. The only real question was the kind of sentence he would receive. 

Ussa stuck with the formalities, too. "He could not have learned of these movements during his duties?" 

"His duties included night guard duty at Kennisatae Research Silo," Gaezhur explained. "His only legitimate knowledge of Buftanisian military moves would be to report spy drones." 

Ussa bobbed his head in affirmation. One count done. The colonel continued to the more damning accusation. "He assisted the traitor, Enesh, in molesting a test subject and abetted tampering with surveillance equipment to hide the act." 

"Has he confessed?" Ussa asked. 

"No," Gaezhur reluctantly answered. Nishet had proven quite resilient. But then, Gaezhur admitted to himself, he had held back. He did not want Nishet to accidentally die before his death sentence was carried out. 

"Did Enesh name him?" Ussa asked. 

"No," Gaezhur said. Damning accusation, yes. Proven, no. Not exactly. 

"Any other evidence?" 

"Buftanis named him as their spy," Gaezhur said. "The envoy, Genad, named both he and Enesh. One as spy, the other as traitor." 

"Noted and confirmed," Ussa stated, turning to the other judges. "I witnessed this naming." He now turned his attention back to Nishet. 

"Accused!" he shouted. "Have you anything to say in your defense?" 

"I have loyally served my country and its free people," Nishet said, finally opening his mouth. Blood spilled onto his chin as he did so. "I freely accepted my mission and the risks involved. I freely give up my life in service to my beloved homeland." 

"And that homeland is Buftanis?" Ussa asked in return. 

"What of Zheiren is free and beloved?" Nishet retorted. 

The judge to Ussa's right rapped his fist against the table. "Guilty," he said. 

"Guilty," the third judge agreed, slamming his fist down. 

Ussa stood. "Concur," he said then punched the table. "Guilty of espionage in the employ of Buftanis. And as an abettor to Enesh's treason, who has escaped his just punishment, Nishet shall also abet that punishment. He shall die a slow death at Yekina, stripped bare and stryped as bait for predators. Perhaps, Colonel, he will be more forthcoming with information and earn himself a quicker execution." 

Gaezhur bowed, chastened. He would get something useful out of Nishet before his bones were picked clean. He would see to it personally. And he'd enjoy it, too. 

* * *

"Must be nice having three days off," Baezhu teased as he found Kahrae at their usual breakfast table. 

"Not off," Kahrae corrected. "And you know it. Debriefings and desk duty for Major Nua. Not exactly fun times." 

"Well, at least it was a change of pace," Baezhu said. "Either way, I missed you." 

"Thanks. So how did the transfer go?" 

Baezhu took a drink to wash down his bite of bread. "I don't know the details. Burha and Hinath took care of that while Dr. Bishtae and I conducted the posterior exploratory on the male with Dr. Geeben. He's an expert on primates brought in to replace the traitor." Baezhu couldn't even stand to say the man's name anymore. It was well within Zheiren's customs to refer to criminals by their criminal title rather than any they might have had before they lost their countrymen's esteem. 

"He must have been quite surprised," Kahrae remarked, "when he got a look at the primate he was going to study." 

Baezhu smiled. "It took nearly ten minutes for him to regain enough composure to hold a scalpel! Dr. Bishtae filled him in as we worked. He has all day to read up on the matter." 

"Ah, not much to observe just yet, is there?" 

"Alien in a coma," Baezhu affirmed quietly. "Not very exciting. He should be a help to us, though. Hinath and Burha have been moved to nights, too." 

Kahrae did not wait to swallow before he replied, "No more lone doctor to get into trouble." 

"No, they shifted Kenu to midshift, since there's no Lesser for Geeben." 

"Well, a linguist beats Hinath, I'm sure," Kahrae smirked. 

Baezhu laughed. "Hinath is competent," he stated, "just not very diligent." 

"Bishtae has the better," Kahrae said. "We got another to replace the spy, too. Obek is his name. Quiet guy, thus far, but I got the idea something's eating at him." 

"So what is to become of the spy?" Baezhu asked, half afraid to hear the answer. Nishet deserved his punishment, but punishment for high crimes in Zheiren could be gruesome. 

"Yekina," Kahrae replied, setting down his empty bowl. "I'm sure you'd rather not know the details." 

* * *

Nishet savored the sweetness of the _hava_ fruit that would serve as his last bite of food in this life. He had known the risk, of course, when he joined Intelligence, and he knew he had done the right thing in bringing knowledge of alien life back to Buftanis. Still, he was a young man, really. His mortal life was not something he gave up easily. He wanted to live to see Buftanis again, to mate at Turn, and to raise a new Cold Raptor into a fine fellow citizen. 

He was afraid, even as he sat calmly chewing his fruit on the rough bench in the underground cell they held him in. Afraid not just of death but of how they offered it, like ancient barbarians. Capital punishment happened in Buftanis. But even now it was controversial, and always the methods were usually quick and never brutal. 

He shuddered, thinking through what they had planned. He hurt so badly already from their interrogation tactics that it wasn't hard to imagine the pain. It was more difficult to fathom the extreme agony of having stakes driven through his limbs and flesh torn from his body only to have predators and scavenges eat him alive while he baked in the desert sun. That was really what scared him. He was willing to die for Buftanis Really, he was. Just why couldn't it be a bullet to the brain? 

"Enjoying your last meal?" 

It was only his training that kept him from looking up in startlement at his unexpected visitor. Instead, he slowly lifted his head and faced Gaezhur with a calm set to his eyes. "It was edible," he replied. "Come to taunt me perhaps? You know I won't give you anything you don't already know." 

"You will," Gaezhur replied, quirking up one side of his mouth. "Whatever training you've had cannot possibly have prepared you for what we'll do at Yekina." 

"My training was quite sufficient, I assure you." Nishet imagined himself as a soul within an outer shell. The soul quaked with fear, moaned in grief for the lost home and family. The outer shell hid it all from his captor. "Besides, my country is smart enough not to tell its agents too much. So we can't tell you, no matter what you try. Oh, I can tell you all about our bicameral legislature, or who the president is and maybe even two of the High Judges. I wasn't the brightest student in Citizenship class, I'm afraid. But anything useful? I don't know anything useful you don't already know. So really there's little left to say to each other, Colonel. It's still only colonel, isn't it?" 

Gaezhur growled. "Your beloved Buftanis doesn't deserve such devotion, Nishet. Your envoy requested Enesh from us. The only time he even mentioned your name was when he said you were the spy. Why was that, do you imagine?" 

_You lie!_ Nishet screamed. Inside. Not out. 

"Or did you think they'd hail you a martyred hero back home?" Gaezhur continued. "For what? Alien life? Hmmm, do you think the public is ready for that? What will they say when your family asks how you died? What might have made you a hero? They'll lie, of course. Your father may never even know you died at all." 

Nishet forced his breathing to stay even. To keep the shell intact in spite of his inner turmoil. His father. What would they tell his father? Had they really given him up so easily? Of course, his shell reminded. Zheiren could have traced Enesh to him. That's why the envoy had come. Zheiren would have realized he was the spy anyway. _But they asked for Enesh,_ his soul cried. _Why not me?_

"Excuse me, Colonel," a new voice interrupted. A Shifting Monitor with a tray stood by the door. "I need to collect the dishes." 

Gaezhur glowered but stepped back. 

Nishet stood up slowly and carried his plate and bowl to the slot between the bars on the door. As the Monitor reached in to take them, their hands touched and something small was passed to him. Nishet stepped back and turned away from the door, taking a quick peek out of Gaezhur's sight. He held a small glass capsule, tipped with aluminum caps. One of them was scratched a tiny letter B. B for Buftanis. 

He tucked the capsule into his mouth before he turned to sit. The Monitor scuttled away. 

"You're a liar," he said, unified now in his calm. "They did ask for me," he guessed. "But you turned them down. Buftanis doesn't need to earn my devotion. In freedom, I was born; in freedom, I live; and in freedom, I die. For Buftanis!" 

He briefly worried about the broken glass cutting his gums and cheek, but dismissed it. It would not hurt for long, after all. He bit the capsule and it crunched, sending little shards of glass into his tongue as well. But then his breath was stolen, his heart seized. He fell. He saw Gaezhur slam his fist against the iron bars of the door but could no longer hear his howl of rage. He smiled. And then he died. 

* * *

"Welcome, Doctor Enesh!" 

Enesh stepped down the steps from the air ship's door to the land of his new home. He held the railing as he went. He felt rather dizzy. What had transpired in the last week seemed like a dream--or nightmare. He certainly had not planned on getting caught, but Nishet had told the truth, poor lad. He was now free of the stifling oppression of Zheiren and out from under Dr. Bishtae's shadow. Now, he was free and the leading authority of the aliens' biology. He would lead the Buftanisian research team here at this facility. 

The female had already arrived, induced into a coma according to his specifications while he was in quarantine getting debriefed and introduced to the freedoms and privileges of the democratic society of Buftanis. 

It was incredible! This was not what Zheiren had taught. Buftanisians had the freedom to choose their own professions and places of residence. They had the right to vote for their national and regional leaders each Turn-year before Turn. Those leaders had to change every two Turns, ensuring that no one person gained despotic power. 

The language was very different, but he was certain he'd master it eventually. He had his whole life to learn. He might study more than language, too. He had always had an interest in drawing. Maybe he could take an art class. It amazed him to think Raptors could be scientists if they wanted. Monitors of all kinds could be soldiers, and Wingeds like himself could study art. Zheiren had termed it chaos. Buftanis called it freedom. Enesh now called himself a Buftanisian. 

Smiling, he said, "Thank you. I'm very happy to be here. I do hope to learn the language soon. This is my country now." 

"We'll see about getting you a tutor," the Winged who had welcomed him offered. "Until then, I'll serve as translator. I'm Dr. Besta, geneticist." He now pointed to the Lesser Raptor standing beside him. "And this is Goti, our Director. He oversees the research side of the compound." 

Goti said something, which caused Besta to chuckle. "He says he's really just a glorified bureaucrat," Besta translated. 

A Raptor stepped forward then. " _Suna_ ," he said in greeting. " _Pedana se nurute._ " 

"Suna oversees the entire compound," Besta explained. "Shall we go and see our other new guest?" 

Enesh agreed. They said good-bye to the Raptors and walked toward the two-story brick building ahead. "I noticed fields just beyond the landing strip," Enesh said. 

"Ah yes," Besta replied. "Even in a free society, there is a need for secrecy. The plantation serves as a cover. We are one of the nation's leading producers of raw _fenite_ , what you would call cotton. We employ over one thousand females, mostly Wingeds and Monitors. Lesser Raptor arms are just too small for real digging. We bring some Lessers and Greaters in for harvesting though. We'll get Cold Raptors in for winter tasks. Suna is actually hoping we can find a use for the female alien, given her unique size and proportions. When she's not under procedures, of course." 

"Doing what?" Enesh was not sure he wanted to expose her to other females. They might damage her. 

"You can help determine that," Besta said as he opened the door and motioned Enesh inside. "You know more about her physiology than anyone else here. We'll arrange a tour so you can see what kinds of tasks the females do here." 

A grand staircase met them at the end of the foyer. "There is also an elevator behind the stairs," Besta explained. "I take the stairs myself. Good exercise." He started up. "All of us researchers live here and all the residences are on the second floor. As is the gym. Yours is the second suite on the left. Ah, here we are." 

Enesh was astonished. It was half again as big as his quarters back in Bethae Community. And that was just the front room. 

"The bedroom and washroom are on the right," Besta said, pointing out the doors. "Your kitchen area is on the left. If you'd like, I can give you a quick tour then we'll check in on the alien." 

Enesh set his bag down on the divan that sat in front of a television monitor. "You really have an independent press?" he asked, still amazed at what Buftanis had to offer. 

"Yes, it's true," Besta replied. "Though the media sometimes panders to the administration." 

"In Zheiren, we get our news _from_ the administration." Enesh followed Besta back into the hall. "This is not at all what we've been told." 

"It may take some getting used to," Besta said, laughing. "But I think you're going to like it here." 

* * *

Darkness hung over him like a thick, heavy tarp. It reached into his mind and body, smothering all thought and memory of pain. The passing of time was meaningless. Time did not matter. Nothing did under the enveloping dark. 

It began to lift, peeling back from his body to allow pinpricks of sensation to spread across his back. It retreated from his mind enough for him to notice, and Malcolm begged for it to swallow him again. But the darkness refused him. 

The weight on his body, his limbs, his mind, grew lighter, less substantial. The pinpricks in his back sparked into little flames. Memories emerged from unconsciousness and he remembered where he was and what they had done. Now the darkness left him completely. The memories assaulted him full-force and pain washed over him in waves. 

A familiar, hated beeping reached his awareness and Malcolm reluctantly opened his eyes. It took a minute before he recognized the patterned tile, the feel of padding around the edges of his face. His back. That's what they'd cut open this time. He was facing the floor. 

The pain backed away, faced with the influx of drugs being pumped through the tube that was no doubt protruding from his neck. As if to confirm his thoughts, the beeping began to slow into a soft, regular rhythm. A resting heartbeat. 

Darkness once again welcomed him, but he resisted, wanting to find Hoshi to reassure himself that she was still there. He tried to turn his head but he was too weak to lift it. He couldn't move his arms either. He barely managed to tap a few times on the hard mattress underneath his fingers. 

He waited for an answer as long as he could, willing his eyes to stay open, his mind to stay sharp enough to hear. But the darkness, with its soothing numbness, was insistent. His eyes closed and he was lost once again. 

* * *

Hoshi slowly came into awareness, feeling more than seeing the light beyond her eyelids. Her nose itched and she thought to lift her hand to scratch it, but her hand didn't come to her and the itch continued. 

She wondered about that and her consciousness increased. She heard voices. One familiar, one not. The new one had an odd accent. 

"generally lasts for ten minutes at our standard _fenes_ ," the accented one was saying. 

"And how do you know the _fenes_ for this one?" the familiar said. _Radagast_. "You could have killed her." 

That alarmed her. She tried to open her eyes and was surprised when they opened. Radagast was there with someone else. "We were quite cautious. We tested her reflexes from the slightest _fenes_ until we reached ten minutes of _bunetan_." 

Radagast flashed a small light into her eyes. "Is it wearing off?" 

"Just the sedatives. We still have about five minutes." 

_To do what?_ she wondered, but had a hard time panicking about it. Probably because of the sedatives. Or whatever kept everything but her eyes from moving. Her nose didn't itch really, she realized. It was more like pins and needles. Very light. Mere annoyance. She wished she could feel it in her fingers or toes. 

She looked beyond Radagast and the new guy to the ceiling and the edge of the wall. She couldn't see the red lamps. The wall was smooth, not painted blocks like before. 

"The bleeding has stopped," the new one said. "Seven days to that part of the _garun_. We need to chart the rest of it." 

"May I see what equipment we have to work with?" Radagast asked. 

"Of course, then we can chart tomorrow's work." 

"And the female?" 

"We have a small room for her after she wakes fully," the new Winged replied. "Just next door. She'll be fine there for the night." 

Now that she was awake, she realized she had no memories like the last time. If they had cut her up again, they had gotten the anesthesia right. Hoshi searched her memory back past the blackness she awoke from, but, at first, all she got was the hunger she had felt along with fear. They had stopped feeding them again. The next day, one of the little orcs had come in to set up one of the machines at the back of the room. 

Just one. 

The door opened again and two orcs lifted her onto a gurney. Her head lolled to one side, and she used the opportunity to try and see the room. 

Malcolm wasn't there. 

* * *

The next time Malcolm Reed felt the darkness pressing down on him, he struggled to get out from under it. His mind was sharper this time around, and he remembered. Oh, he remembered what they had done and why he should want to be covered in suffocating darkness forever. But what he remembered that kept him fighting for consciousness was something he held more important than his own suffering. 

Hoshi. 

He opened his eyes. He saw a wall. White, painted concrete blocks just a few feet from the edge of the bed he was on. Somewhere beyond his head he heard the hated, familiar beeping of the life-support machine tracking his heart rate. Looking down, he could see his arms and the straps that held his wrists to the side of the bed. 

The orcs had not restrained him before. Not after the last surgery anyway. Not even when he had tried to pull out the tubes in his neck. He had not tried that again though. Because of Hoshi. 

He tried to turn over but the pain seared his back. He bit his lip and tried to keep his breathing and pulse steady so the machine wouldn't put him under again. He had to find her. 

The machine. The beeping sped up as his heart rate increased. There was only one. One pulse-pattern of beeps. One machine. 

_Hoshi_ , he tapped against the metal bed he could just reach below the mattress. No answer. No second set of beeps. 

"Frodo?" he whispered, wanting to shout but fearing the orcs might be listening. 

His pulse kept rising. The machine clicked and his eyes grew heavy. She had not answered. She was gone. He let the darkness take him without resistance. He didn't want to feel the loss, the loneliness, the grief that was cascading down onto him. Hoshi. He needed her. Without her, he didn't want to wake up. The drug was mercifully quick and so much better than what they had used during surgery. His eyes rolled up and closed. His pulse slowed and his breaths came evenly. He was out. 

* * *

"I think he realizes she's gone," Kenu stated. 

"What did he say?" Dr. Bishtae asked. 

"It sounded like _Fro-doh_ ,' Baezhu said, lisping a bit on the first part. He was impressed by the clarity of the new listening device Kenu had installed. 

Kenu nodded and began to write on a piece of paper. "It might be the female's name." He showed them what he had written: SATO. "These were the unique symbols on her uniform. If it spells _Fro-doh_ , we might have our first real clue to their language." Kenu came closer to pronouncing the difficult sound. "The first symbol occurs four more times on her uniform. The second only once more. The third occurs four times total and the last just this once. It's not a lot to go on, but it's at least something." 

Baezhu studied the paper. The sounds of both syllables were very similar. The vowel sounds anyway. The squiggly symbol and the perpendicular lines were not the same and seemed to him to be in the places of the consonant sounds. "But if the vowel sounds are the same, why aren't the second and fourth symbols the same?" 

"Good observation for a biologist," Kenu said, grinning, "and a Lesser Winged at that. Sometimes I think you crawled out of the wrong egg. But seriously, it's possible. Your name and the colonel's share a vowel cluster and yet those same clusters have different pronunciations." 

" _Fro-doh_ ," Dr. Bistae said, tripping hard on the first consonant cluster. "His mouth has more movement, more flexibility. That's why we can't say it correctly." 

Kenu nodded. "I did have a week with nothing to observe while you had him in a coma. So I studied the notes and drawings from your exploratories. You haven't really gotten into the speech centers, but there are some clues to be gained from your external observations. We have beaks, more rigid than Raptor's lips. The alien's are soft and pliable. If we can ever get him to talk, I'm certain we'll find a lot of sounds we simply can't replicate properly." 

"That does not bode well for the colonel and his ilk," Bishtae concluded, though his tone did not carry any disappointment. 

"Well, they might come closer," Kenu replied, "but they still might have difficulty asking him any questions." 

"Unless we find a way to teach him our language," Baezhu said, thinking that Zheiren would be simple by comparison. 

"Pronunciation shouldn't be hard for him," Kenu agreed. "But he'd have to be willing or forced. And then there are still the issues of vocabulary and grammar." 

"Is it too much to hope that he'd learn more from more adult programs?" Bishtae asked. 

"He'd still have to consciously relate the sounds he hears to their proper meanings," Kenu explained. "It would take a linguistic genius to put those things together organically, the way a child does. But we could at least work on vocabulary, nouns, or verbs." 

"As long as we keep any monitors out of his reach," Baezhu joked. 

* * *

The next morning, Dr. Besta met him for breakfast with a gift. "You said you wanted to learn," he explained. 

Dr. Enesh opened the present, a rare thing in his life. Gifts just weren't done in Zheiren, except for very, very special occasions, like graduation. Enesh couldn't remember any other gift from his former life. This one was a book. A language book. 

"'Buftanisian for Foreigners'", it says," Besta translated the title. "I'll help you with the first section and that should give you a good place to start. And I decided that I'll tutor you myself." 

"How do you say Thank you'?" Enesh asked. 

" _Kelera katay_ ," Besta replied. 

" _Kelera katay_ ," Enesh repeated back to him. "It's a wonderful gift. I can't wait to leave Zheiren behind completely." 

The first section began with a picture of a classroom and a paragraph describing it. Fortunately, Buftanis did not use a completely different alphabet and the sounds of the letters were at least similar. "At the front is a chalkboard," he repeated in Buftanisian. "At the back is a door. On the left, there are windows." A chair, desk and table were pointed out along with a few smaller items: a picture, a tape recorder, a radio. 

"I think you'll find that page opens the door," Besta said. "I couldn't learn anything until I got that page. Then it all started to make sense." 

Enesh looked up from the book. "You're not from here?" 

Besta smiled. "Defected twenty years ago. Kethae Colony, northern Hashu province. Zheiren." 

* * *

It was at the back of her neck. It had felt like a pinch, a shock. For no more than a second, maybe less. Then she felt nothing at all. Nor could she move anything but her eyes. 

Hoshi was in some sort of tube, like the imaging chamber back on _Enterprise_ but louder. After a few minutes, though it felt imminently longer to her, the tube suddenly went quiet. She was just starting to be able to wiggle her toes. Her neck pinched again and the toes were gone, pulled back into the nothingness that was her body. 

_At least it doesn't hurt_ , she thought and hoped it still didn't when the numbness wore off. 

The noise resumed and she closed her eyes since there was nothing to look at, nothing to feel, and nowhere to go. Nothing to feel physically, anyway. She certainly could feel emotionally. She was lonely and confused and scared. Less scared than when they had come to take her away from Malcolm and Malcolm into God-knows-what this time. 

They hadn't touched her. Not in that sense. No cuts, no stitches, no horrific agony of feeling scalpels slice her skin. Malcolm, though, probably had all those anew. One machine. If not for her, then for him. 

But why? Why was she singled out? Or why was he? They never tried to get her to speak the way they had with Malcolm. They hadn't molested her the way they had him. Now another surgery, she guessed. While she was moved but relatively unharmed. 

Moved to where? 

The noise stopped again. The shock came. She hadn't even realized her toes had begun to tingle. They stopped. The noise started again. 

_Moved to where?_ she thought again, after the interruption. The orc with Radagast had a different accent. And hadn't the smaller one said Radagast would be punished? Had he simply been transferred? And allowed to take her with him? 

She didn't even know how long it had been since she had last seen Malcolm. A day? A week? Worse, she didn't know when she would ever see him again. _Enterprise_ was a lost hope. Malcolm was all she had left. What did she have now besides breath? Life devoid of hope, happiness, companionship, and even the respect due to one sentient being from another. She was a lab rat. And now she was alone. 

* * *

Malcolm woke again and again. Each time his ability to think again awoke, he thought of Hoshi and tried to crane his neck to find her in the room. And when he didn't, he fought for the chance for the drugs to put him under again. It was too much without her. Without any friend or any hope. He was lost in a horrid, lifelong nightmare. He might as well spend as much of it as possible unconscious. 

But the orcs had other ideas and each time he woke up, it was harder to go back under. They were weaning him off as his back healed. Each time he woke up, thinking came easier and feeling came deeper. The physical pain was still dulled by narcotics but the loneliness was amplified. His memory, too, became sharper and he tried to piece together where Hoshi had gone. 

He remembered holding her when morning and midday passed with no meal. She was shaking. He focused on her, holding her as much for his own comfort as hers. They both knew what a fasting could bring and both still had vivid memories of before with imagination more than making up for what their closed eyes had not seen. 

They had pulled her away from him, pushing a syringe needle into his arm as they lifted him onto a gurney. He kept his eyes on her until he couldn't help but let them close. He was pushed toward the one machine they'd prepared before he fell unconscious. Hoshi had still been there. 

His next memories were the ones he didn't want: of knives slicing into his back, of fingers pulling skin from muscle, and of hands or hard instruments invading his body. Of screaming silently because he couldn't open his mouth or vibrate his vocal cords. Of fighting to move a muscle, to gasp or increase his pulse. To let them know he was there, awake, feeling everything, hearing their dispassionate, scientific babble. 

That was enough, this time, to push his pulse beyond the limit. His chest hurt, pounding with it. But relief was coming, dragging down his eyelids once again. And he was gone. 

* * *

Dr. Enesh found it disconcerting to have the female alien watching him while her body was otherwise immobilized by the electric shock Dr. Besta kept applying as needed. Besta's eyes questioned him as he put a cloth over the female's face but he didn't say anything. Relieved of her oddly piercing gaze, Enesh returned his attention to her lower abdomen. 

"Our facilities aren't really designed for primates but we did manage to get some new equipment. Like this table." He took hold of each of the female's ankles. "Watch her arms." Then he pulled. 

Enesh quickly grabbed the female's arms and folded them over her stomach as she slid down the table until her legs hung limply off. Besta then unfolded two extensions with stirrups on the ends. He placed the female's heels into then and extended her knees outward. Her genetalia were then fully exposed and easily reached. 

Using the gloved fingers of his left hand, he pulled open the folds of skin. "According to the magnetic scan, her urethra is at the forefront and the vaginal opening behind." He used the index finger of his right hand to probe the suspected area. It inserted too far to be confused with any other nearby structures. "Yes, this is it." 

Besta handed him the cable with the small camera and Enesh used his left hand to guide it alongside his right index finger until the cervix was visible on the monitor that sat beside the table. He could then guide it externally into the uterus. 

There were two openings ahead of them and Enesh recognized the tubes that led to what they hoped were ovaries. He chose the opening on the left and guided he camera through it. Besta placed a plastic sheet with gridlines onto the female's abdomen and a small area began to glow, telling them externally just where the camera was. 

The ovary came into view on the monitor just as Besta turned on the full-size projection of the magnetic image. He slowly scrolled through the images so that it appeared they were looking deeper into her body. "There!" Enesh called. The light glowed now right beside the projected image of her right ovary. "Perfect." 

"We'll need to determine the right hormone levels to increase the maturation of ova," Besta said. "I would imagine we'll have a number of failures before we succeed." 

Enesh backed the camera into the uterus and then pressed the button to release it. He tested its wireless connection with the controller, turning it and driving it forward, backward, up, and down. "Brilliant," he breathed, marveling at the technology. More loudly, he said, "You do realize she'll likely shed it at the start of her next cycle." 

"We might be able to keep it in one of the tubes," Besta said. He plunged a syringe into her uterus and extracted a sample of fluid. "However, even if she does shed it, we should be able to retrieve it from her rags. If not, well, a small sacrifice to pay for so great an advance in scientific knowledge." 

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Eleven**

Author's Note: This one was typed by hand. 

* * *

The paper carried a photograph of Nishet on its front page. It was gruesome. The spy was unrecognizable. Had Baezhu not been trained in biology, he might not have even realized he was looking at a Lesser Raptor at all. There was little skin left, and bone was exposed in many areas. The gut was open and the inner organs strewn about. And it all had a rather burnt appearance. 

The military had supplied the photo as well as an official story that, while disclaiming Nishet rightly as a Buftanisian spy, deftly skirted the true circumstances of his capture. No aliens were mentioned, of course, but neither was Doctor Enesh's treason. The story was half-fabricated and Baezhu had to wonder how much of the photo was staged. 

Still, he didn't concern himself with it much. The spy had been punished irrevocably. That was enough. For that aspect of the whole affair. It did still rankle that the traitor had gotten away--and with one of the aliens. 

"Has he spoken again?" Kahrae asked as he reached for the discarded paper. 

"Not a sound," Baezhu replied. "That's not exactly good breakfast reading," he warned. 

"What's not good?" Kahrae argued. "He got what he deserved. That's to be celebrated." 

"Yes, but the picture. . . ." Baezhu, fortunately, could set aside gruesome images or smells and keep his appetite. Science did, in some aspects, strengthen one's defenses in such regards. 

"Helping to preserve the endangered wildlife," Kahrae stated. "Even shehra need to eat." 

* * *

They turned him every few hours. Maybe twice a shift, if he could recognize the faces. He didn't want to. He hurt and he was alone. Malcolm only wanted to be unconscious--and maybe dead. 

He thought about it now and then when he was awake. Maybe that was why they had secured his hands this time. So he couldn't pull out the tubes. He wondered what would happen if he did though. Would they rush in and save him before he bled to death? Or would they try to calculate just how much a human could lose before he died? 

Considering the surgeries--it seemed almost profanity to call it that--hadn't killed him, the orcs seemed determined to keep him alive. Not for any hindrances on their part. Had Moody lived, they might have given in to the opportunity to have a free-for-all vivisection on one of them. Now since there was only one male and one female, they had to do it piecemeal in order to keep the specimens around for study. 

Maybe they had decided that male and female were close enough and so killed Hoshi in order to dissect her. No, he couldn't think that, didn't want to think it. He'd dreamt it a few times and vomited upon waking. That sent the orcs into a frenzy. They had rushed in chattering most likely about their theories for the cause, while the smaller orcs cleaned up and took samples. 

He missed having her hand as he slept. Who would fight off his nightmares now? And who would fight off hers, wherever she was? Was she scared? Was she as lonely as he was? As hurt? Had they done the same thing to her, slicing up her back with scalpels? Or something worse? Had she woken up? Did she know where she was? 

He fell asleep with those questions, and woke-up in sickbay once again. He sat up. 

"Rest easy, Lieutenant," Phlox admonished, pushing him gently back down. "You've had quite a shock." 

Malcolm pushed his hand away and stood up. "Bullocks! I've had enough of this. Where's the captain?" 

"The cap'n's busy, Malcolm," Trip replied, appearing beside the bed. "The Xindi? Remember?" 

"I remember!" Malcolm shot back. "I remember a hell of a lot more than you do. You're going to tell me the same damn thing again, aren't you?" 

Trip shot him a concerned look. "What same damn thing?" 

"Why you've left us behind." 

Trip sighed and rolled his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. "Malcolm," he said, speaking softly, "I know you don't want to hear it--" 

"She's gone, Trip!" Malcolm yelled. "They cut me up a second time and she was gone when I woke up." 

"Cut you--Malcolm, the Xindi took her. Probably the Reptilians. We'll find her. We'll get her back." 

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Major Hayes will die doing it. It's all happened before." 

"That is hardly logical," T'Pol intervened suddenly from behind him. 

"Nothing about this has been bloody logical," Malcolm retorted. Then he turned back to Trip and softened his voice. "I thought you were my friend. How can you just leave us there?" 

Trip's eyes glistened. "I am your friend, Malcolm, and if I could, I'd get you myself. But we're not there yet." 

"How long?" Malcolm asked. 

"We cannot predict the future, Lieutenant," T'Pol replied. "You will simply have to wait until we do." 

Malcolm's knees buckled and Trip grabbed him before he could fall to the floor. Malcolm felt as if his heart would crack open. "I don't know that I can," he whispered. 

"Hang on, Malcolm," he heard Trip say as his head spun and his eyes grew dark. He forced them open and found himself looking at the tiled floor through the thin cushions that surrounded his face when the orcs turned him onto his stomach. 

* * *

Hoshi was starting to understand. Some of the language and what had happened. They were leaving her awake longer each day and shocking her less. But they did come and take samples of her blood and other tissues. And when they did, they spoke. Now there were fewer words of the orc language she had learned before and more of the new one. A new language, a new place. It wasn't that Malcolm was gone. She was. They had taken her to a new place. Radagast was speaking--not well--the new language. He had brought her to the new place. 

T'Pol, with all her logic, would have thought that this understanding would make her feel better. But Hoshi wasn't that logical. For the last week or so she had been able to just float on the odd sounds and different inflections, knowing that something had changed but not really given the time to truly grasp what it was. And whatever they had done to her physically hadn't hurt beyond that first shock that made her go limp. She had let herself float there in confusion, and well, relief. 

Relief in that the nightmarish surgery hadn't been repeated or even attempted. Relief in that Radagast had covered her face before they did whatever they did that did not hurt during it or after. Relief in that her constant fear was lessening. 

The relief came crashing down on the realization that they had separated her from Malcolm. She had noticed his absence, of course, but could imagine that it was only temporary or that he was just in another room. Now she knew he was much farther than that. She was in another region or country, and she had just enough logic to work out that the first country wasn't about to give up both of its prized aliens. Radagast had some part to play in her transfer to this place, and now he was speaking the new language. He was a traitor. And she was a bargaining chip. 

Malcolm, then, was the only prized alien of the first country--Mordor, she decided, sticking with their codename scheme. They'd never trade him, and this country--Harad, maybe?--would never trade their new prized alien back. Malcolm was lost to her and she to him. 

Had they taken him to surgery when they took her away? Was it as bad as the time before? She cried, remembering and imagining him there alone after it and tears filled her eyes. It had meant everything to see him when she had woken up before. He gave her a reason to open her eyes every day, a reason to eat and drink and keep hoping. 

What hope was there left? If by some miracle--and for his sake, she wished there was-- _Enterprise_ returned to find them, they might find Malcolm since he was near the crash site. They would have no idea where to look for her. She would never see Malcolm or T'Pol or the captain again. 

She didn't want to think anymore or to understand anymore or to feel anymore. She didn't want to eat or breathe or do anything. She wanted to die or just to disappear into nothing. A speck of light swallowed by the looming blackness of space. 

* * *

Enesh watched the female sulk through the window. She had stopped eating the day before and now she just huddled in the farthest corner. Her eyes leaked constantly. They had deduced back in Zheiren that that meant she was upset, either sad or embarrassed. While it was possible she was embarrassed given the exams she had been subjected to--She had seemed quite modest about her reproductive cycle.--Enesh did not think that was the cause of her moping. 

"I think she is lonely," he told Besta. Only the last word was in Zheiren. And he wasn't completely sure he got the tense right. 

Besta supplied the word and corrected the tense before replying, "The male?" 

"They did have a bond," Enesh said. Besta corrected politely. Enesh took no offense. Besta separated language issues carefully from the conversation when need be. Enesh appreciated his tutoring. He mentally filed away a question about the proper way to emphasize in Buftanisian. In-depth explanations had to wait or the entire day and all its work would bog down. "They held hands when they slept, sat next to each other every other hour of every other day." 

"They never spoke?" 

"Not that we ever heard. Their faces are very expressive though. It is just a matter of correctly interpreting those expressions." 

Besta leaned against the wall. "We can't take her back to the male, and I think we'd be asking far too much to try and bring him here." 

"True. We may have to force feed her." 

"We could try something less drastic," Besta suggested. "Perhaps she'd feel less lonely with more of her kind." 

* * *

Hoshi did not bother to look up when the door opened. She stayed still and waited for the shock that would paralyze her. Instead, two strange orcs entered, one with wings and one without. That wasn't unusual here. They each took an arm and lifted her to her feet. She did not resist. In fact, as they escorted her through the door and down the corridor, she held out a hope that they were through with her and taking her to her death. 

She doubted anyone would blame her for giving up now. Resisting any further would only mean pain. The end would still be the same. They would do what they wanted with her until they were finished and finally killed her. There was no hope of rescue, no hope of a future. 

She was somewhat surprised when they led her straight out a door into bright sunlight. It had been so long since she'd seen natural sunlight that it stunned her. There was grass on the ground, as green as any on Earth. And trees. There were trees not so different that the ones she had climbed as a child. The buildings were bigger but completely alien. They had doors and windows here and there. 

They led her along a concrete sidewalk to another large building with few windows and two floors. Once inside, Hoshi glimpsed a courtyard at the end of the long corridor. They passed two doors on the left before they stopped. A winged native stepped out. 

"What is it?" he asked, shocked at her appearance. 

"A _kano,_ " the one on her right answered. 

"An important _kano,_ " the one on her left corrected. "She is not to be _bayka._ They must understand that. There are only two like her and we only have her." 

"She is so small," the new guy stated. 

"So put her with the _kinana._ Find her something to do. We'll collect her from time to time." 

The new guy sighed and took her arm from the others. He opened the door again and led her through an anteroom to another door. 

"They'll never understand you," he said. Hoshi got the feeling he was talking more to himself than to her. 

Hoshi's curiosity was piqued. And her fear. But they had called her important. They wouldn't hurt her too much if she was important. Maybe, she realized, she wasn't as ready to die as she had thought. 

The door opened and Hoshi saw a large room full of dozens of natives huddled in groups on the floor. There was a cage to one side and he dragged her to it as the mass of natives watched. 

There was something different about them. They were all Winged which seemed odd here where the various species seemed more mixed. They were smaller, though still taller than her. But it was mostly in their faces. Something odd, more animalistic than the ones she'd seen before. 

"Lada!" the taller orc stated. "Come!" 

One of the smaller orcs came forward and sniffed at the cage before coming to the other. Standing together as they were, Hoshi realized why they were different. One was male. The other, the smaller, slightly differently colored one was female. _Kano,_ female, like her. 

"Important!" the male said, pointing at Hoshi. "No _taydee,_ no _fahdee._ She _fahd,_ you _fahd._ Understand?" 

"No _fahd,_ " the female, Lada, repeated. 

Hoshi felt something coming back to life in her. Anger. The male talked to Lada like an owner talks to a bad dog. Or a misbehaving child. 

"Kifa!" the male bellowed. "Come." He grabbed Hoshi's arm through the bars of the cage and pulled her forward into them. 

Kifa, a thin female limped forward. "Look," he teased. 

Kifa did as she was told. She was bent a bit and limped slightly as she walked. She pressed her long beak into the bars, and Hoshi backed away as much as she would with the male still holding her. Kifa sniffed and then put an arm in to poke her with her long, clawed fingers. 

" _Kufa,_ " she said, and poked harder. 

Hoshi gasped as the claw stabbed at her shoulder. Instantly the male let go and lunged at Lada. He had a baton of some sort, and he beat her with it. Lada screamed. And then she went feral. She flew at Kifa and knocked her to the ground, growling and drooling like a rabid beast. 

Lada's claws dug into Kifa's neck until blood began to gush out. The rest of the room was motionless watching. So was Hoshi, her shoulder forgotten. It was barely a scratch. 

"No _fahd!_ " Lada screamed. "I _fahd,_ you _taro!_ " 

The male did nothing to stop it. Kifa was screaming, fighting weakly against the stronger Lada, who gouged at her with her beak, biting. "I _fahd,_ you _taro!_ " she kept repeating while the male nodded. 

Finally, Kifa stopped fighting and her arms unfolded into limp wings at her sides. The male pulled Lada back. "Good Lada," he said. "Get cleaned up." 

Lada padded away without a backward glance at Kifa, her victim. The male opened the cage. "Come!" he ordered, motioning for her as if she didn't understand the word. She hesitated. She did not want to go to someone like him. "No _fahd,_ " he said and then repeated, "no hurt. Come!" 

_No hurt. I hurt, you die,_ Hoshi realized. _She hurt, you hurt._ It had all been a training exercise. For her sake. 

The male reached in farther and grabbed her arm. "Come!" he demanded as he pulled her out. He dragged her to the back wall where there was a sink and a cabinet. Lada glared at them but stepped back. The male got a cloth, wet it, and then pressed it to the scratch Kifa had made. "You are _kufa,_ " he said. He taped a patch of gauze on after spraying some sort of antiseptic on her wound. Then he stretched out her arm and looked more closely at her hand with its five fingers. "And small. We'll have to put you with the _kinana._ " He wasn't looking at her, and again, she felt as if he was talking more for his benefit than hers. 

She felt now some small reasons to live. These females were treated like animals by the males and it made her fume. She was furious to think that these males thought they were so superior to the smaller females. So superior that, when faced with a female of a completely unknown species, they'd assume their superiority to her. She toyed with the idea of telling this male just what she thought of that. But two things stopped her. One, T'Pol's warnings about influencing cultures before their time, and Malcolm's about what they would do to force her to answer questions if they knew she could understand them. "No hurt" just might not matter as much then. 

So she kept her mouth firmly shut and shuffled behind him as he led her past the huddled females. At the far back corner was a group of even smaller females, maybe three-fourths the size of Lada and Kifa. Just a little taller than Hoshi. 

"Pipa," the male said. "You watch her. No hurting. No _taydee._ Show her. You work. She works. Understand?" 

Pipa's eyes were wide as she listened. "No _taydee,_ " she repeated. "I show her work." 

"Good Pipa," the male said. "If someone hurts, you tell Lada or me." 

And then he walked back to the front of the room, leaving Hoshi standing before a dozen or so young, curious females. 

* * *

Baezhu checked the restraints one last time before leaving the room. The male had really begun to challenge their ability to keep him alive lately. This sullen mood had apparently affected his immune system and brought an infection. Fortunately Dr. Geeben had caught it quickly, and the antibiotics he prescribed were doing well to counter it. 

Infection was something they were quite adept at handling. Suicide was something more irregular. Twice the male had managed to dislodge one of the tubes from his neck, spilling blood all over the floor or spurting it onto the walls. It had taken quick action to keep him from bleeding to death and creative thinking to devise a method of restraint that kept his neck isolated from his rather flexible body. 

The first time, he had simply ducked his head toward his hands, which had been held to the opposite side of the mattress. The second time, with each wrist cuffed to a forward leg of the bed, he had managed to slide his body up and hook the tubes over the corner of the bed well enough to pull one out as he slid back down. 

Both times, he had nearly ripped out all his stitches. It had to have hurt a great deal, Baezhu realized, and yet the alien had managed to control his breathing and pulse to keep from being incapacitated by pain medication. The alien was despondent but they had underestimated the extent of his anguish. And all apparently because the female was gone. 

"You're probably uncomfortable like this," he said, indicating the arms held behind the male's back, "but we can't let you harm yourself. You're too important to us. I can tell you about Frohdoh." 

The male had been staring blankly at the wall but his eyes snapped to Baezhu at the female's name. Baezhu tried to keep his tone light and hopeful, and he hoped that such tones would have the same meanings to the alien's species. "Frohdoh is in Buftanis. She is well." 

For a moment, Baezhu thought the alien would speak. His breath had changed and his pulse quickened. But the alien's mouth never moved. Only the hair above his eyes dipped in toward the center, and his gaze pierced Baezhu with its clarity. 

The alien had understood something. The name, of course, and that everything else pertained to her, mostly. Baezhu decided to try and use his hands to help convey his meaning. "We," he began, pointing back and forth between himself and the male, "are in Zheiren." Thinking quickly, he wadded some of the used bandages into a ball, and then pointed to one side. "Zheiren." Then he pointed between them again. "Us. Zheiren." 

The male was watching. Baezhu felt encouraged to continue. "Frohdoh," he said, then pointed to the other side of the ball of gauze. "Buftanis." 

The exchange clearly meant something to the alien. His pulse was racing and his eyes were beginning to leak. The machine clicked and Baezhu knew he didn't have much more time before unconsciousness severed whatever connection he had managed to forge. 

"We didn't want to send her away," he explained, just in case the male could understand some of it. "We wouldn't have given her up if we hadn't had to. It's complicated. Dr. Enesh went with her. He caused all of this and hurt you again." 

The alien's eyelids were drooping. "I'm sorry," Baezhu told him, and then the alien's eyes closed. His breathing and heart rate returned to normal. He was out. 

* * *

For only the second time in what she guessed was three months, Hoshi could see the sky. She could smell new grass, hear what might be birds twittering in the distance. There were trees here, surrounding great patches of straw-covered land. The air was crisp and there was still some frost on the straw as Pipa bent down and started gathering an armful up. " _Ragula syn,_ " she said, pointing at the straw with her right hand. 

Hoshi didn't quite understand the words, but she got the idea as the other juvenile females began to do the same thing, each eying her with curiosity or suspicion. They were clearing the straw, and she was to do likewise. She thought for just a moment about her options, but, finding none, she bent over and picked up the wet straw, piling it onto her left arm. 

By the time the sun was straight overhead, they and the many other females--Hoshi estimated at least four hundred that she could see.--had cleared three large fields. Her bare arms and the sheet that served as her dress were dirty and wet from the straw. Her feet were covered in mud past her ankles and numb from the cold. Fields were exactly what they had uncovered. Farm fields. 

There were males, standing at intervals with clubs or whips and watching the female workers. 

"Frohdoh! Come!" one of them called, the same one who had placed her with the juveniles. At first Hoshi thought he was saying a new word in this second language on this planet. It took a second, more forceful call for her to realize he was calling her name. She was Frodo. 

For a moment, she panicked. How could they have learned if not from Malcolm? But then she realized it was a code name. If Malcolm had been forced to talk, he was still using code and giving false information. So he was alive and at least in some amount of control of his situation. He was strong enough to resist them. 

When the male started stomping toward her, she went to him. He was holding a small box. Once she reached him, he grabbed her and pulled her roughly into the shadow of the nearest building. " _Balanu!_ " someone called and the rest of the females began marching to several other locations where she noticed now bowls and large vats had been brought out. It was lunchtime. 

Hoshi's stomach growled and the male gave her a quizzical look. He thrust the box at her and then pushed her shoulder until she set down on the ground. 

The box was warm and it smelled like fruit and meat. Cooked meat. One corner was heavy, and, when she opened it, she found not only the food but a long, cylindrical beacon of water capped with a lid. The scientists had packed her a lunch. 

By the time the whistle blew and the females marched back to the fields the males indicated, Hoshi had finished her lunch and figured out at least part of the culture of this planet--or this region of it. But probably also the one Malcolm was likely still in. She knew now why she had seen no females there. It was a male-dominated society and the females were slaves. By evening she knew without any doubt that she was a slave, too. 

Exhausted, she dropped to the floor beside Pipa. She was wet from the dousing they had each gotten to clean off. She shivered, thankful for the warm red lights that came on overhead. The females huddled in their small groups talking in broken fragments of sentences before lying down themselves and closing their eyes. Lada, though, the one threatened to guard her well-being came back to the group of juveniles and pushed aside some of the others to join the adjacent group. She glared at Hoshi before closing her eyes as well. Hoshi did the same, secure in the thought that no one would harm her during the night without Lada killing them. 

* * *

Malcolm pushed past the leftover haze of the drug that had put him to sleep, wondering how much time had passed this time. He hadn't dreamed while drugged into unconsciousness. It only felt like seconds since the little orc had told him Frodo--Hoshi--was sent halfway around the world. 

That was as much as Malcolm had understood. Two places: Zheiren and Buftanis. And he was in one and she was in the other. 

His pulse increased so he slowed his breathing, parsing out his thoughts gently. He felt happy to know that she was alive at least. And maybe if they had sent her there they hadn't put her through what they had done to him. It would have been too dangerous for her, and they obviously wanted to keep the two of them alive. 

But he also felt a deep sadness, a loneliness more hollow than he had ever felt before. How could he do this without her? How could he endure the pain, the nightmares, the far too vivid imaginings of what else they might do? How could he hold out hope of rescue alone? 

Could she? Was she scared there? Lonely? Had they hurt her? Would she be strong enough to keep silent and pretend she doesn't understand? 

The door opened and he closed his thoughts. Two of them entered, Saruman and the little one. The latter went to the machine and turned a few dials there. After a few minutes, Malcolm felt his head clear even more. He also felt an ache all across his back punctuated in long lines where they had cut him. 

Saruman was talking but it was all gibberish to Malcolm. He listened anyway, though he tried not to show it. 

They unhooked his wrists and rolled him onto his stomach. The little one practically crawled under the bed to cuff his hands together there. He needn't have bothered. Malcolm had already decided that if Hoshi was still alive, he would try to live. 

* * *

"They put her to work!" Baezhu told Kahrae as they settled into their corner table away from the other crowds. "Like some ordinary female." 

Kahrae didn't flinch. "What else are they to do with her? She _is_ a female." 

"Not an ordinary one!" Baezhu held. "They're not like us. Why do we assume they have the same gender differences? Even if they do, they could do better than work her in the fields. We don't know their environmental tolerances yet. She could become ill or get hurt." 

"Or eaten," Kahrae quipped. "They are females." He stopped eating. "Colonel Gaezhur is getting snappy." 

Baezhu had no trouble following the change in subject. "I know; he was at the Council again yesterday. Dr. Buhra had to defend against him. He'd kill the male if he had the chance, trying to get information he can't understand from him." 

"My guess is there's no imminent invasion from space," Kahrae said. "It probably would have happened already if there were." 

Baezhu slurped down his water. "Why can't the colonel see that?" 

Kahrae just shrugged. "I don't try to out-think my superior officers. I just follow orders. Is the male still trying to kill himself?" 

"That's the latest thing exciting all the doctors," Baezhu said, excited himself. "He's stopped. He's almost as passive as he was in the beginning. We actually learned a lot more when he was suicidal. His flexibility and ingenuity, for example. And his intelligence. Animals don't commit suicide." 

"You talk to him anymore?" Kahrae asked. 

Baezhu finished his meat before answering. "We try. He's back to ignoring us. I can't say he understood anything but names and hand signs anyway." 

"Still, it's something," Kahrae encouraged. "If he ever gets to understanding and speaking, maybe Colonel Gaezhur won't have to kill him to get answers." 

* * *

It was loud in the fields. The clearing had been done and now they were turning the hard, cold soil with spades. The juveniles, the group Pipa and she belonged to, had somewhat smaller spades, but Hoshi's was still quite large for her frame. Pipa showed her what to do with few words and no complaints at their treatment. She looked up at others now and then and found the same. They worked without cry or complaint, and Hoshi wondered if they knew they were slaves. 

As was quickly becoming a daily routine, Hoshi was called away by one of the guards, Gothmog, she called him. He sat her down with her boxed lunch while the other females were called to food stations along the perimeters of the fields. 

Hoshi was glad it was a lot of food. There was no such thing as dinner here. Just breakfast and a late lunch, both substantial. So besides being deprived of one meal, she and the other females were well-fed. 

Turning hard soil was more difficult than clearing hay, so when they quit for the night, there were still fields unturned. Her muscles ached and her feet throbbed. She was glad for the heat lamps after the lukewarm shower that had hastily cleaned most of the mud off. She wanted to try and talk with Pipa but she knew she shouldn't. Besides, she was too tired to bother. She thought for a moment that Malcolm was the lucky one, lounging on a mattress on the floor and bored out of his mind. Then she remembered and shivered. Maybe she was. Or maybe they were tied. 

* * *

Major Zhenah seethed. The coordinates were not as exact as Genad had led them to believe. Every day, for nearly three weeks since the spy had been staked, Zhenah and a small contingent of troops had been combing the ground in a grid pattern, passing metal detectors over the sand and scrub. The only thing they had found yet was a sort of food wrapper one of his men had accidentally kicked up this morning. At least it would give the linguists something to try and decipher. It had strange symbols on it like the symbols on the clothing the aliens had worn that day. 

Seven hours, with a least another hour to return to the base, only to try again in the morning. Zhenah was starting to think the Buftanisians were lying. 

"Major!" Uhlad called out. "I've got something!" 

Zhenah didn't bother running but waved to show he was coming. It could simply be more debris from downed Buftanisian spy drones. 

Uhlad had waited and Zhenah decided he'd report him for that if this was just junk. For now, he knelt down and brushed the sand away from the spot Uhlad indicated. His fingers hit something small and hard. He grabbed it and lifted it into the sunlight. It was some kind of little black box with a lid. He opened it and it whirred for a second before dying. He'd never seen anything like it. Technology! Buftanis had told the truth after all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Twelve**

Author's Note: This one was typed by hand mostly, and then by voice for a bit and then back to hand. Hey, I actually spell-checked this time! 

* * *

The tubes were gone. The restraints were not. Malcolm Reed practiced stoicism, ignoring the aches in his muscles, the cramps in his arms, the threatened numbness in the tips of his fingers. He willed his pulse steady, though every once in awhile it got the better of him and raced. If the tubes were gone, it meant he was healing. And once he healed, they would find another reason to study him. 

They were talking to him again. Using simple drawings on a flipchart they left in the room. He'd been careless. They knew he had listened when the little one had told him about Hoshi. And they knew he understood the few names he'd heard when used with the symbol of the planet: Zheiren, Buftanis. 

It was hard sometimes, not listening, not understanding. There was nothing else to do. No books, no movies, no companion. Just his own thoughts and their rudimentary attempts to communicate. He now knew they called their planet Sharu, and that Zheiren and Buftanis were the two largest countries. He also knew the scientist's names, though he preferred to keep thinking of them as the various members of the dark forces of Middle Earth. 

As much as he hated and feared them, though, he didn't think they were truly evil. They always made sure he had ample pain meds after the "procedures" they put him through, and they went out of their way to try and teach him to communicate. They didn't torture him to do so. They were scientists and he was a subject of study. They probably weren't even aware that he was conscious during the procedures. They were still villains to him, orcs and Uruks and a bad wizard or two, but none of them deserved to be called Sauron or Morgoth. 

And that's what kept him to his plan of not communicating. These guys, the winged ones, were not Morgoth or Sauron, but he'd seen likelier suspects. The raptor-like ones. The military they had seen in the desert. He probably wasn't just a curious subject of study to them. 

If he could talk to the scientists, he could tell them that he'd been awake, and they just might try to fix it so that if they did more, he wouldn't be. But then he'd risk something worse at the hands of the military. 

* * *

"Her cycle is incredibly fast!" Dr. Besta exclaimed. "I know you told me it was around twenty-eight days, but seeing it makes it more concrete." 

"Of course, we knew some small animals can reproduce at something near that rate," Enesh said, agreeing, "but a large primate and a sentient one at that?!" He studied the picture on the monitor. The lining of the uterus had thickened and they had sent the camera up one fallopian tube, hoping to see the maturation and release of one or more eggs. One had successfully released. That hadn't surprised Enesh, as multiple eggs would mean potentially multiple births should the eggs have been fertilized, and at her rate, it would mean a population explosion in one year. Of course, the gestation period would have something to say about that. His own species remained in an egg for three months. How much shorter would one of these aliens remain in the womb? Would it emerge live or still encased in an egg? Would it be helpless when birthed, or quickly able to join its alien society? They would soon have some of those answers. 

"Has your man been doing well with the samples?" he asked Besta, who was studying a report. 

"Difani has been doing quite well. Each night, as she sleeps, he initiates the voltage to stun her and takes two samples before it wears off. He's done very well for someone with only minutes of medical training." 

"And what have those samples shown us?" Enesh peeked over Besta's shoulder at the report. 

"Hormones. Some are similar to reproductive hormones in the larger primates here. I'm sure we'll be able to synthesize them. We'll need more than one egg each cycle if we hope to be successful. For now, we need to get her out of there. I think she'll start bleeding very soon, and that will make the females hard to control. They could harm her." 

"She might actually enjoy the respite," Enesh added. He wasn't entirely happy with working her with the other females, but it _had_ returned some life to her and kept her too exhausted to focus on her predicament. 

* * *

Hoshi worked alongside Pipa, turning the soil. She still hadn't found a chance to try and talk to her, or even decided what she would say if she did. None of the females talked, except to give Hoshi terse directions or bark just as terse orders. The latter came from Lada, who, it would appear, was the lead female of Hoshi's particular slave group. So no talking during work. It was too much chaos in the morning, and she was separated at lunch. At night, she was too exhausted and cold to care. There was a terrible monotony to life now that she could barely think on any intelligent level. She only wanted to be clean and to rest. 

Today it was even worse. She had started cramping and knew what was coming. How could she handle it out here? Would they even get her gauze or rags? How could she keep them in place during such labor as she was forced to do? 

In desperation, she had checked her thighs as discreetly as she could manage while she crouched down to eat her lunch. Nothing yet, but it was coming. Surely, Radagast knew. They were prompt with the gauze before. They must have counted the days. She had lost count between unconsciousness, drugs, and exhausting slavery. 

Finally, the sky turned a deeper blue and then a dark purple. A cold breeze brushed at her simple, dirty shift. She got goose bumps. Several of the younger females dropped their tools and flexed their fingers. Pipa, though, kept working as if she hadn't noticed. The horn sounded and she stopped. The day was over. 

She trudged toward the rear of the _kinani_ , the young ones. Lada and a group of adults were close behind. Hoshi, as always, tried to ignore her. Lada always sneered when they made eye contact. 

The door to the shower room was about twenty yards ahead, and Hoshi caught a glimpse of bright white as females passed through the heavy plastic curtain covering the entrance. Someone growled behind her and she was shoved forward. She fell and spun around. Another female bent toward her, beak snapping. She sniffed the air and try to reach between Hoshi's legs. 

Three others pushed their way to her. She caught a glimpse of Lada trying to hold them off. Hoshi was too busy pushing away her molester's arms. And it brought her far too close to the female's long, sharp beak. The young ones chattered behind her but stood back. 

All but Pipa. "No hurt. No _taydee_!" she shouted, helping Hoshi push her attacker away. Lada kept most of the others back, but two had darted their way past her, sniffing the air. 

Suddenly, three guards rushed in, clubs swinging. The females growled and did not back off until a few blows knocked them back. Strong arms grabbed under her tired ones, and Hoshi was lifted from the ground and dragged past the stunned juveniles and angry adults. All of them sniffing a she passed. Even Pipa. Lada growled at her but held the others back. She looked feral. Like an animal. 

"She needs washing," a vaguely familiar voice said as she was pulled through the curtains. 

"Everyone back!" the guard shouted. "Back to the wall. Now!" 

The females already under the water cried out angrily but did as he said. Then Hoshi was dumped under the cold torrent. The water turned brown beneath her and then there was one drop of red. It had started. 

* * *

Baezhu watched the male alien, really wishing he had something else to call him. That was only about convenience though. There were more pressing issues. Like bedsores and muscle atrophy. Dr. Bishtae agreed but it was decided that suicide was a greater risk. Until they could be sure the alien would not try to harm himself, he had to be restrained. Dr. Geeben even argued that atrophy would work in their favor, making him too weak to fight. And then they could control how much strength he was allowed to regain. 

Dr. Bishtae argued back. "His immune system will also weaken, putting him in more danger during future surgeries." Still, he had been overruled. The alien would be carefully monitored for now. If he proved docile enough, the restraints could be removed and a controlled exercise regimen instituted. 

The alien didn't even pull against the restraints anymore. He just stared at whatever his position let him see, or slept. He was done trying to harm himself. Baezhu knew it. And he felt it must be a miserable existence for someone who used to travel among the stars. 

The male was supposed to be a subject. Something they could study like the other animals in the lab. But even though he didn't talk or even try to communicate, it was apparent he was more than a dumb primate existing on instinct and lacking self-awareness. The others had personality, too. They spoke, in their own ways: crying out when they were in pain, growling when angry or intimidated. They could also sulk when unhappy, but it was easier to overlook with them. They weren't intelligent in the way that people were. The alien though, chose not to communicate, chose death over further misery (for awhile at least), chose when to be docile and when to fight. Chose logically. He came from another planet. In a ship. He wore clothing with writing and closures on it. He was far more than an animal. 

And he was still treated like one. 

"Stop recording, Baezhu," Dr. Bishtae said, quietly. "There's no point now. But leave the camera on so we can still keep an eye on him." 

* * *

Hoshi was conflicted. She didn't bother trying to sort through her feelings. Nothing would change. She was wherever they wanted her to be, and she endured whatever they wanted her to endure. Her feelings about it were not taken into consideration. 

She was clean and warm, back in the small room near the laboratory. She had been given the folded gauze she was used to and an extra meal: dinner. She had slept on a mattress on the floor and been allowed to sleep right through to morning. When the door opened, she was given food, water, and more gauze. And then she was left alone. 

She might have been relieved. Maybe she was in small ways: the soft mattress, the long sleep, more food, more dignity, and the respite from exhausting physical labor. And no poking claws and snapping beaks below crazed eyes. 

There was something wrong with the females. The adults anyway. Something that scared her. The threat of punishment and death had kept them docile toward her until last night, until just before her period started. They sensed it and went crazy. She half hoped the scientists wouldn't send her back. 

But she more than half feared staying where she was. The guards there wanted to work her. The scientists here wanted to study her. She had waking nightmares about how that would go, despite her rather uneventful treatment before being sent to the fields. 

The week went by just as uneventfully, though she continued to worry each time the door opened. The scientists regularly entered, feeding her, replacing new gauze for the used, until the bleeding stopped. On the seventh day, the guards came for her and marched her back to the barracks--for want of a better word--and straight out to the fields. They passed her off to Gothmog, who took her to where Pipa and the other juveniles were dropping seeds behind a plow pulled by an adult female. The adult eyed Hoshi and growled but kept to her work. Pipa showed Hoshi what to do. 

She was working again, as a slave, and she realized at the end of the very long day, that she had missed her chance to enjoy her respite. She hadn't slept well then, and, as exhausted as she was, she couldn't sleep now, surrounded by dozens of potentially dangerous females. They watched her, sniffed her, but hung back when Gothmog or one of the other guards approached. 

A few hours after the heat lamps came on, she felt a brief shock at the back of her neck. Her body melted into the floor, tired muscles relaxing and pain receding. She saw her shoulder turn but never felt it. Her head was still turned to Pipa, sleeping next to her. She could barely make out the presence of someone beside her, hands pushing something into her abdomen. The hands finished and she was rolled back to her side. She thought she saw Gothmog walking back to the front of the room. 

* * *

Dr. Kaife wasn't a bad sort as far as Wingeds went, Zhenah had decided. He had a decidedly military bent despite his scientific nature. Of course, it was Wingeds like Kaife who developed weapons and defense systems, so it wasn't much of a surprise. Zhenah had never worked with one closely, but he had always liked them better than the biologists, geologists, and geneticists he saw on a regular basis. Kaife had been assigned by the Council to study the technology Zhenah had found in the desert. 

Still, Kaife was a scientist and that meant that things were going slowly. Presently, the thing was in pieces. Kaife was turning one piece over in one hand while carefully drawing it with his other. There was a similar stack of drawings on the credenza on the other side of the room. Each piece was drawn independently; the device as a whole had been rendered in various stages of dismantlement. 

"This is the power source," Kaife said, holding up the piece. "It's not alkaline, not nickel, no battery like we've ever seen. Where did this come from?" 

"Need to know, Doctor," Zhenah reminded him. "Can you determine what it is?" 

"Not without destroying it, I'm afraid." 

While Zhenah knew there would be scientific advantage to that, it would negate certain tactical ones. "We need to know what it is and what it is used for more than what it is made of." 

"I may need to know more about its origins to determine what it is used for, Major, but I'll see what we can learn without that information for now. I can tell you some of what it is." He laid that piece down and moved to the credenza. He flipped on the computer screen there and pulled up a program. A three-dimensional computer model of the device rotated slowly on the screen. "It's electronic. And it's very small as I'm sure you're aware. Sand had infiltrated it, so I am going to venture it was found in the desert or on a beach. Since youths cannot generally be found wandering the Rihansu, it's not likely it belonged to a youth. Many of its components are unknown to us, alien, if you will." 

Zhenah smirked. He did like how this one thought. "I'm not authorized to tell you, Doctor. Let's just say you're on the right track. And let's just remind you of the need for secrecy here. Nothing about this device is to leave Kennisatae." 

"Not a problem," Kaife said, looking up. "Can I confer with others in this facility?" 

"Not at this time," Zhenah replied. "You report to myself or Colonel Gaezhur. We'll forward your reports to the Council. They will decide what more you need to know for your research. For now, put it back together and see if you can determine what kind of electronic device it is." 

"Yes, sir," Kaife said. "But I will need to be careful. It could be dangerous. This part here looks like some sort of transmitter. Activating it could, for example, detonate an explosive device, and yet, it may be the only way to find out." 

Zhenah thought about that. He remembered the crash site and the near lack of debris on the blackened sand there. "There was an explosion," he admitted. "Perhaps, if it is a detonator, it has already done its job. Proceed carefully, Doctor, but proceed." 

* * *

Dr. Geeben's eyes were wide as he observed, Dr. Bishtae noticed. It was one thing to study the alien externally but quite another to peel away the epidermis and gaze into pure anatomy. On the other hand, primate abdomens didn't differ all that much. The posterior musculature on exhibit during the previous surgery was far more distinct. 

"The liver, of course, is up here," Burha pointed out for Geeben's benefit. "Stomach, and spleen." 

"If only we could dissect the organs, weigh them for comparison," Geeben sighed. 

"Unfortunately, we don't have a spare," Bishtae reminded him. "We can measure though. The intestines alone should take some time." 

"There does seem to be quite a lot," Geeben agreed. 

"Are you ready, Baezhu?" Bishtae asked his assistant. 

Baezhu had his clipboard in his hand. "Of course, Doctor." 

"Good. Let's begin." He lifted a section of intestines, digging until he found the very base of the stomach. Geeben held the measuring tape as Bishtae straightened the first part of the coils and moved down to the next. 

Eventually, they had measured a full twenty _risan_ , which looked rather impossible, piled beside the abdominal cavity as they were now. Baezhu dutifully recorded the measurement as Geeben took a photograph of the cavity and the remaining organs there. 

"Gallbladder," he recognized, "stomach and liver, as you said. But what is this?" he pointed to small finger-like object just below the ascending colon. "I've never seen that on a primate. What function would it have?" 

"We may never know," Bishtae admitted, "but we can try to find out. Scalpel?" 

Each organ they felt they could safely repair was opened to compare its structures with known primate samples. Dr. Geeben was essential. His knowledge of primate anatomy helped to make the decisions about which incisions could be life-threatening and which would not. The kidneys were delicate but primates and others had been known to survive the loss of one. It could be risked. They'd found no obvious need for the finger-like organ, but while the subject was a primate, he was also completely foreign. They sealed it back up and left it where it was. 

The surgery took well over four hours. Bishtae noted, and pointed out to his colleagues, the relative looseness of the abdominal muscles as they closed. The male had been particularly fit when he'd arrived. He was getting weaker. 

The procedure finished, Dr. Bishtae supervised as Baezhu injected the coma-inducing cocktail into the male's intravenous tube while Dr. Burha switched him onto the cardio-respiratory bypass equipment from the surgical set. The male would sleep peacefully for a week or more to give his organs a chance to heal and the pain time to diminish. The procedures were invasive, but Bishtae insisted the pain involved be kept to a minimum, especially as the subject was sentient. 

"How is he?" Burha asked as he set the last switch on the machine. 

Bishtae checked the monitor. "Perfect. Heart rate and respiration normal. He's sleeping soundly. And I'm ready to call it a day myself." 

"I'll finish the preliminary reports, Doctor," Baezhu offered. He was a good assistant with a touch of brilliance for a Lesser Winged. Bishtae liked that he broke that particular mold. He trusted Baezhu's competence. 

"Thank you, Baezhu," he said. "I think I'll just catch up on the progress our traitor had with the female before leaving. He's in your hands, Doctor." The last was said to Burha, as he gestured to the male, lying still and pale on the oversized mattress. "Keep him well." 

* * *

Hoshi tried to stay awake at night, to see what Gothmog's pal was doing to her. While the work now wasn't hard--laying seeds and pushing dirt over them--the hours were long. By the time she got back to the barracks, she was exhausted. She'd feign sleep only to fall into the familiar nightmares. 

The next morning she was woken early and put back to work, hauling long, heavy hoses out to rows of the fields. It took five days to lay them all and she ached all over from the effort. Each night she tried in vane to see what the night guy was up to, but each time she could barely move, let alone keep her eyes open. 

Her sore muscles screamed at her in the mornings, but there was always something to do. Pipa was a veteran at her young age. She kept up with the adults, knowing what task the juveniles had to do. And she was patient with the smaller ones, like Hoshi. When she spoke, it was in broken sentences, devoid of grammar. Simple nouns, barely-conjugated verbs, hardly a modifier, and no articles at all. On the one hand, Pipa seemed smart, but when she spoke, Hoshi thought differently. The males spoke in full sentences, with good syntax and proper grammar. Why hadn't Pipa learned from them? Why didn't any of the females Hoshi had heard speak better? And why had they turned so vicious when she started bleeding? It hadn't affected the juveniles or the males. 

Still, she was too tired, too sore, and just too beat to think it through but in snatches of idle wondering here and there, usually while eating her lunch. Lunch was the highlight of her dismal existence. 

* * *

"Don't know why we're watching," Kahrae's partner at guard duty spoke, surprising Kahrae so much that he nearly fell over backwards. 

"We're protecting the research silo," Kahrae said, pretending he wasn't surprised at all. Of course, he couldn't say what kind of research they were protecting at the silo. 

"From whom?" Obek asked. 

Or that. "Buftanis--" 

"Buftanis has a deal," Obek interrupted. "We're working with them on some project. They're mollified." 

Kahrae got a little impatient at that. And a little worried that his new partner knew as much as his previous one had. "Well, there are other countries that might not be 'mollified.' There could be satellites looking down on us right now." 

"At what? A big building in the middle of a desert?" 

The guy had not said two words since assuming his post and now he just wouldn't stop with the questions. "We're _watching,_ " Kahrae said, stressing the important words, "because we are _ordered_ to _watch_." 

Obek was neither bothered or surprised. "By whom?" he continued. 

"The colonel." 

"And who orders him?" 

Kahrae could see this progression and decided to cut it short. "Ultimately, the Council." 

"Right." 

And with that, the verbosity stopped. Kahrae wondered if he'd been assigned an insane soldier for a guard partner. He waited a good fifteen minutes for Obek to speak again but it never happened. 

Finally, he just couldn't take the silence. "What about the Council?" 

"Why you asking?" 

"You brought it up!" Kahrae couldn't believe he'd forgotten. 

"You looking for someone else to denounce?" 

"I didn't denounce anyone! Though I would have if I'd known what the spy was or what the traitor was doing." 

"Rightly so," Obek agreed. Apparently just to confuse Kahrae. "Treason is treason. Talking isn't." 

More silence ensued. If he wasn't standing guard, Kahrae would have thrown down his gun and stared at his partner in complete frustration. "So you don't like the Council?" he finally asked. "It'll change after Turn. Raptors will be in charge." 

"And that's better? It's not the Council, it's the idea of the Council that I don't like. The Council tells us what to be, what to do, where to be, who to hate, and even who gets to mate." 

"You'd rather have chaos like Buftanis?" Kahrae asked, genuinely curious now that Obek was opening up. 

"You ever read the Great Book?" Obek asked, back to questions again. 

"Of course," Kahrae answer. "We studied it in school." 

"Yeah, but did you read it?" 

_Didn't I just say I had?_ Kahrae thought. "Yes." 

"Did it say anything about a Council?" 

"No." 

"How about a superior minority deciding what's best for the majority?" 

"Yeah, in the old despotisms--" 

"No! In what it sets forth: the Great Plan," Obek insisted. In all this, he never took his eyes off the horizon he was watching. 

"Of course not," Kahrae replied, wondering why Obek was bringing up school lessons. "The Great Plan replaced all that. The majority would rule themselves in a classless society where each is to contribute according to his ability and to receive according to his need." 

"Well quoted," Obek complimented. "So what's the Council?" 

* * *

It was nighttime when Malcolm managed to pull himself out from under the crushing blackness of unconsciousness. A bittersweet parting, he mused groggily, as it was in the blackness that nothing hurt and nothing mattered. But there was still life out from under it, and Hoshi was alive so he had to be, too. 

The heat lamps were on, which is how he was able to tell it was night. He was shackled again and strapped down. They weren't taking any chances. Honestly, he hurt too much to try anything if he had even wanted to commit suicide. His whole torso felt like someone had wrenched everything out and put it back. Which is, of course, probably what happened, what he'd felt for what seemed like hours. His stomach roiled with the memory, and he didn't have the strength to hold anything back. 

The orcs ran in. Suddenly everything tilted and a pan was put in front of Malcolm's face. 

" _Bash anet sonag?_ " the smaller one asked as he used a cloth to wipe the vomit from Malcolm's face and took the pillow from behind his head. 

Malcolm tried to spit out the awful taste and nearly choked out the word "water" before he caught himself. Everything was getting darker, heavier. 

" _Kanisha_ ," the larger one said. He was holding a bottle of sorts. He forced Malcolm's mouth open and squirted water into it. Malcolm gratefully cooperated and swished out his mouth before spitting again. He couldn't manage anything else. The blackness was returning. Just before it engulfed him completely, he felt the bed tilt back into place. 

* * *

"His stomach is in his abdomen, Hinath," Dr. Buhra stated. 

"But he's on pain meds," Hinath argued. "And he hadn't moved. What brought it on?" 

"Who's to say if he won't?" the doctor replied as he unwrapped the bandages covering the sutures. "His temperature is normal. I can't detect any evidence of infection. We'll take a blood sample anyway, just to be sure." 

"Yes, Doctor," Hinath said. He pulled a lever on the cardio-respiratory machine and extracted a vial of the alien's blood from the opening beneath it. "I'll take it to the lab." 

"I'll meet you there," Burha said as he watched the alien sleep again. "I so wish to ask you where you come from," he told the male after Hinath had left the room. "If only you would try to communicate." 

* * *

Hoshi woke up slowly. She stretched her aching muscles and noticed the heat lamps were off and the room was filled with light from the windows. It was late. She stayed perfectly still for a moment, listening. Were there guards yelling? She couldn't hear anything but snoring. She looked over to Pipa who was just opening her eyes. 

Pipa must have seen something in her face, because she explained in a whisper. " _Sifami_." 

Hoshi looked around and saw everyone else near them was still asleep then scooted closer to the juvenile. "Sifami?" she whispered back, taking a chance. She provided no grammar, no other word than the one Pipa had used. Only inflection. Would Pipa understand? Would she tell Gothmog or his cronies? 

" _Sifami_ is no work," Pipa replied, offering what might have been a smile. 

_A holiday_ , Hoshi realized. She smiled back. "No work." 

"You name Froh-doh?" Pipa asked. 

Hoshi nodded, but Pipa didn't seem to understand that. Why should she? "Yes," she said. "Frodo Baggins." 

"Baggins easy," Pipa concluded. "You speak!" 

Hoshi realized she'd made a mistake, but maybe she could trust Pipa. She had no choice but to try now. "Please don't tell," she said in Buftanisian. "Our secret?" 

Pipa's eyes went wide. "Secret," she said with conviction. "You different." 

"I'm not from here," Hoshi replied. "I'm from far away." 

Pipa seemed to accept that. "Where you go?" 

"Go?" 

"TTake you. You go. You back." 

Oh, that. "They took me to study," Hoshi told her. 

"You smell different. No now. Before." 

Smell different? Yes, she supposed she did. The adults had been very interested in sniffing her. "Why did the adults attack me?" 

"You smell different." 

As if that explained it. Hoshi was curious and now that the dam was broken, she couldn't help herself. She just hoped Pipa would keep their secret. "Pipa, did you ever go to school?" 

Pipa expressed her amusement with something like a laugh. "Pipa female." 

"Yes, you are." Hoshi gave up that line of questioning for now. She wondered just how she could test anyone's basic intelligence in this circumstance. "Pipa, what is _taydee_?" 

Pipa shook her head. "You not _taydee_." 

"I'm not?" Hoshi asked, confused. 

Pipa opened and closed her mouth a few times and Hoshi understood. Eat. _No eating._ Gothmog had told the females they couldn't hurt her or eat her. "No, I'm not eating," she agreed. Others were stirring now. Hoshi looked Pipa in the eyes. "Secret?" 

"Secret," Pipa replied. "Eat soon." 

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Thirteen**

Author's Note: Whew! I _finally_ finished this chapter! It was very hard to write, mainly because the two main characters are so far apart. But it should get easier after this chapter. Can't say why without giving it away. I can say, though, that parts of it might get harder. The parts I asked for collaborators to help on. So if you think you have good stories from Malcolm's and Hoshi's lives, please contact me. I won't steal a story, just adapt one with permission. I won't keep anyone from posting their own stories that are an adaptive version in mine. 

"He still vomiting?" Kahrae asked, still chewing his meat. 

"No," Baezhu replied. "That only lasted a few days. I think he's getting control of himself again. He's always more . . . animated after the procedures--and the coma, of course. Then, after a few days, he goes back to ignoring us with all his might." 

"Maybe you should 'procedure' him more often," Kahrae suggested. 

Baezhu eyed him critically. "Spoken like a true Raptor. Every procedure induces trauma to the body, weakens it. If we don't allow his body time to repair and heal, he will rapidly decline and die. Then we'll learn only from an autopsy, and the colonel still won't get anything he considers useful." 

Kahrae slurped his water. "Well, it was a thought. What about the female?" 

"They are still working her in the fields with the other females." Baezhu pushed his bowl away in anger. "They're going to get her killed." 

"I'm surprised they haven't eaten her yet." 

"They tried!" Baezhu said. Then he remembered where he was and lowered his voice. "At her last cycle." 

"That would do it," Kahrae agreed. "Especially this year. Have they fertilized her yet?" 

"They're not going to 'fertilize' her," Baezhu corrected. "Besides, right now, they're just inducing hormones and observing." 

"I suppose if this is working, she's animate. Are they learning anything more from her than the male?" 

Baezhu bobbed his head. "Physiologically, yes. She's a lot more graceful than any of our primates but she never says a word." 

"Well, she _is_ a female," Kahrae pointed out. 

"They do speak, Kahrae. Not at the same level as we do, perhaps, but they can follow simple concepts and vocalize them." 

"How is it that we get half our DNA from them and yet we don't come out like them?" 

Baezhu shrugged. "They get half their DNA from us so why don't they come out like us? Genetics, I suppose. Evolution. We don't need intelligent females so we evolved limited ones." 

Kahrae laughed. "Right, I won't need a conversationalist come Turn!" 

Baezhu leaned forward. "Does that mean you've got a spot?" 

"I wish! No one's heard yet. You?" 

"There are rumors they are reworking the quotas again." 

"Maybe Obek has a point," Kahrae said, throwing down his utensil in disgust. "He's always going on about the Great Plan and how we're not managing it. If this was a classless, non-governmental society, we would just have the Turn with whatever females we find and be done with it. But instead, we have a minority locked up in committee deciding who gets to propagate the species and who doesn't." 

"So Obek does talk," Baezhu said, trying to lighten the conversation again. After the traitor scandal, he didn't want Kahrae getting questioned about bad-talking the Council. 

"Kind of surprised me, too," Kahrae replied. "Don't worry; he's no traitor. He's a super-patriot. He was going on about Buftanis last night, how they're meddling in Shirkatisa, trying to turn them to their chaotic ways." 

"Maybe cooperating over the alien research has emboldened them to think we are all just friends," Baezhu thought out loud. "They wouldn't have dared before." 

"Shirkatisa wouldn't have dared! And they still shouldn't." 

* * *

There was noise all around him: voices speaking urgently, footsteps near his head. 

His head? He opened his eyes and sat straight up, nearly bumping into Phlox's legs. "We're busy, Lieutenant," the doctor said. "Please wait outside." 

Again. Malcolm stood and felt no pain in his stomach. A small blessing in an otherwise bothersome ordeal. "This isn't real," he told the Denobulan. 

"Please, Lieutenant. . . ." Phlox didn't finish. Machines started to beep frantically. Malcolm turned to see Major Hayes lying on a bed with a blackened hole in his chest. He looked around. Every bed seemed to be used. Medics rushed here and there, trying to help the wounded and bleeding. That chaos was better than watching Hayes die again. 

But if this was when Hayes died . . . yes, Hoshi! She was there, lying still and pale on a bed in the corner. He tried to push through the crowd to reach her but he was pushed out the door into the corridor instead. "Later. She needs her rest, Malcolm," Trip said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "How're you holdin' up?" 

"I'm not and you know it!" Malcolm threw back, not wanting to play this charade again and again. "I told you this would happen. Because it has all happened before." 

"Malcolm--" 

Malcolm pushed Trip's hand away. "How much longer?" 

Trip shook his head. "Until what? You're the guy that knows the future." 

Malcolm's face grew hot. "Don't patronize me! They've cut us open, Trip. They've got Hoshi on the other side of the planet doing who knows what to her." 

"Hoshi's in Sickbay; we got her." 

"Then, not now. How much longer are we supposed to hold on?" 

"Lieutenant," Trip said, with obvious impatience, "the Xindi prototype killed seven million people. And now they want to destroy all of Earth. I think that takes priority over one man's sob story." 

It was really no use getting angry with a dream from the past, so Malcolm tried a different approach. "After that then? We will destroy the weapon while you and T'Pol destroy the network of spheres. Earth and the Expanse will be safe. Will you come for us then?" 

Trip sighed. "All I know, Malcolm, is that we're not there yet. Lord willing, we'll do what you said. But right now, we've got to see this through. We need you, Malcolm. Hang in there." 

At that moment, the lights went out in the corridor and when they flickered back on, he was in a stark white room, strapped to a slightly padded table with his abdomen still tightly wrapped in bandages. 

* * *

Now that planting was done, the work was somewhat easier, Hoshi decided. Still, her back ached and her thighs burned from the near-constant crouch as she and the other young females patrolled for weeds or re-dug irrigation ditches that had caved in. Small green shoots were starting to sprout from the seeds, and Hoshi actually found time to wonder what they had planted. She asked Pipa when there was no one else close enough to hear. The answer she got was less than promising. 

"Seeds." 

"Seeds of what?" 

Pipa just stared. "Seeds," she repeated. 

Did Pipa not know the names of the plants? Or was it beyond that? Did Pipa not grasp the concept of seeds becoming plants that produced fruits or fabrics or other materials? 

She pondered this more fully as she ate her lunch alone. None of the females she'd encountered had seemed equally as intelligent as the males of the species. But was that only because they didn't have the same opportunities for education and advancement? Was it due to a paternal, chauvinistic society? Or was there something wrong with the females? Something so endemic to their society that they would not even think a female alien worth questioning? Is that why they only tried to speak with Malcolm? 

Two societies, she realized. There and here. Two societies that looked at her as little more than a curiosity. She had not once seen a female in the first location. But they had not tried to communicate with her there either. Here, they didn't even bother with children's shows or constant laboratory observation. They were running some kind of experiments on her, but otherwise, they had thrown her in with the other females apparently content with a life of forced labor. 

She thought back to when Trip had met Charlie. Discounted by her race, she was thought incapable of learning until Trip had taught her to read. In the end, it turned out sad for Trip and worse for Charlie. But Hoshi had her doubts that she could start a revolution here. So maybe she could find a way to try to see what Pipa was capable of. Of course, she did not know the alphabet here but she could do something phonetically. Or maybe math. Maybe she would run some experiments of her own. 

* * *

"What news from Buftanis?" Doctor Bishtae asked as he stepped into the office. 

Baezhu had just been familiarizing himself with the report. "Besides that they're working her like a typical female?" he asked in return. He didn't really expect an answer. They all thought it was egregious to do such a thing with such a rare specimen. "They're preparing for egg collection. They say the ovaries have responded to the hormones and they should have a fair number of eggs to offer several attempts over the summer." 

Dr. Bishtae snorted. "If they do manage a successfully pregnancy, she will likely lose it in the fields. Even the traitor should know better." 

"I can't imagine the other females would react well," Baezhu agreed. Those who did not conceive during Turn always had to be kept secluded from the others. They tended to show a fierce jealousy. 

"Well, what have they learned about her physiology from working her so hard?" 

"Her muscles appear to be well-toned. Her skin has darkened in the sunlight. She does tire more easily than the other females, but she is more flexible and has more dexterity." 

Bishtae took the report from him to peruse the data himself. "Still no speech?" 

Baezhu shook his head. "Not one word." 

"Our females can speak," Bishtae said. "I thought I saw so much more intelligence in her eyes. I would have gambled she could at least manage a few syllables. She has the same vocal organs as the male, and we know he _can_ speak. He just _won't_ speak." 

"Maybe she is refusing as well," Hinath suggested with a yawn. 

Bishtae gave him a pointed look. "She is female. I'd be surprised if she has that capacity." 

Baezhu thought for a minute what it would be like to speak to no one for over four months. Then he added into his imagination the treatment each of the aliens had received. Could he hold his tongue and not complain? "They seem overly docile, don't you think?" he asked aloud. 

"How so?" Bishtae asked, setting aside the report. 

"If I were one of them, either one," Baezhu tried to explain, "and I was refusing to speak, I think I might be driven mad or at least been forced to complain by now. But they don't complain. They don't act out." 

"The male tried to kill himself," Hinath pointed out. "That's a pretty loud complaint." 

"He's had two instances in over four months," Bishtae argued. "That doesn't quite refute Baezhu's hypothesis yet." 

Baezhu took that as a cue to continue. "Yes, in general though, he's not fought us or tried to escape. She does what she's shown to do, goes where she is taken, makes no fuss." 

Bishtae sat down and was quiet for a moment. "If that is true, it begs the question all the more. What were these docile, sentient creatures doing up in space to come crashing down on our planet?" 

* * *

Major Zhenah was impressed. Doctor Kaife now had a replica--enlarged for practicality--of the device. Each pertinent piece was color-coded for easy identification. 

"It is a communication device," he stated as he held it up. 

"You're certain?" Zhenah asked. If it were true, why had the aliens left it behind? 

"Ninety-nine percent certain," Kaife replied. He opened the mock-up. "This is a microphone." He pointed to a red point on the base. "And this is the speaker," he added, now pointing to a yellow area on the inside of the cover. 

Kaife moved to another table and set the replica down before he cracked it open to display the innards. "There is a transmitter and a receiver. But beyond that, it's not recognizable. It's not a cellular telephone. It does not use radio waves or digital signals." 

"What does it use?" 

Doctor Kaife shrugged. "I'm not sure. But that's what I'd like to find out next. The power source still has a strong charge. It'd like to use the device, test it with various transmission methods." 

Zhenah thought for a moment. If they used it, who might hear it? Why had the aliens left it? It was far from the crash site and rather in the area where the aliens were found. So they'd kept it until they were found. They hid it right then. Why? They had walked for days. Why not use it to call for help? 

Maybe they did. 

"Concentrate on detecting what it transmits first, Doctor." If they could find the aliens had called but no help came, what would it mean? Were they sent here as some punishment? With a communication device and explosives? Unlikely. But what? 

"I will do my best," Kaife replied. "This isn't from here, Major. It's staggering but I can't find any other logical explanation. This is an alien artifact." 

Zhenah looked him right in the eye. "Yes, Doctor, it is." Then he turned and walked out. He had to find the colonel. 

* * *

Doctor Enesh held up the little piece of paper with his name and fictitious address. The voting station noted on it was equally fictitious as both actually resided at the clandestine facility. Doctor Besta had helped him acquire the card, proof of his eligibility to vote in the upcoming election. He was amazed that Buftanis was already affording him the rights of a Buftanisian citizen, and that all citizens were eligible to vote for candidates to fill the highest governmental posts in the country. What had appeared a reckless pursuit of anarchy when he was younger now seemed an intricate exercise in trust. The government trusted the citizens to make enormous decisions. 

Enesh's understanding of the language had increased significantly. He could carry on most social and scientific conversations with relative ease now, so the new political climate had come just in time to broaden his vocabulary. Each evening, he listened to the candidates and news about the elections then discussed them with Besta over breakfast. 

There were two front-runners now for President. One opted for a strong stand of defiance against Zheiren and its allies. He wanted boycotts of goods, increased intelligence and a build-up of defense forces. This, he claimed, would also boost the sagging economy. To that end, he advocated a majority female Turn, allowing more workers. 

The other candidate was more liberal, preferring bilateral talks with nations under Zheiren's sphere of influence. Already there were economic interests in Shirkatisa. Capitalism and the free market--not guns and bluster--would free Zheiren's people eventually. He advocated a more equal Turn ratio, bringing new scientists, artists, and thinkers and not just workers and soldiers. 

It was interesting to Enesh that some in the society wanted a return to unlimited Turn. Regardless how any particular country implemented it, all developed countries realized the need to balance resources with birthrate. More females meant more workers but also more food, more waste, more housing, and more opportunities for labor. Too many males and unemployment sky-rocketed. Prices would go up, pay would go down, and the economy would suffer. Prey species would decline and even disappear, bringing malnutrition and starvation. No, balance had to be found and maintained. Though Enesh did find it fascinating how Buftanis went about it. 

In Zheiren, the quota was used to limit the number and races of males allowed to mate. In Buftanis, all males had the right to mate--and with multiple females. Some females were simply given contraceptive hormones to prevent the fertilization and maturation of any eggs produced. Others were given different hormones to encourage one gender over the other, thus producing a proper ratio of female-to-male new births. 

The race of a male wasn't even an issue except that transracial copulation was not allowed. Besta assured him that there was usually a 4:1 ratio at the very least for Greater Wingeds in the compound. Raptors generally petitioned for other locations in the industrial centers where female Raptors were more numerous. Enesh decided he was very much looking forward to the future here in his new homeland. 

* * *

"They would seem to be of little threat," the Head Councilman stated. 

"On what grounds?" Grand Raptor Ussa butted in. While his words were harsh, his tone had been kept low and diplomatic. Still, Gaezhur recognized the bravado building. After Turn, Ussa would likely be the Head Councilman. 

"They've shown no aggressive behavior," the Head Councilman pointed out, picking off data points one by one to prove his point. Just like a Winged. "They had a communication device from the time of the crash to their capture nearly five months ago. No other such craft has been seen on or around Sharu. Our satellites have been monitoring the skies. No one has come for them. No rescue, no invasion. No threat." 

"They could be building up their forces," Gaezhur countered. 

The Winged Councilman chuckled. "Against us? We may be a formidable enemy on Sharu, Colonel, but these aliens could travel through space. _If_ anyone were coming for them, I doubt we could even mount enough defense for even ineffectual bluster." 

"Then there is a threat," Grand Raptor Ussa said, pouncing on the point. 

" _If_ anyone were to come for them," the Councilman agreed, "but given that no one has thus far, I agree it is unlikely anyone will." 

Ussa smiled. "But someone may. Someday. The more we can learn of their offensive and defensive capabilities, the better we can prepare an effectual defense. Given another five months, and the alien's knowledge, we might even develop technology to match theirs. Given no knowledge, we could only be taken unprepared." 

"Technology itself is to be considered," Gaezhur offered, "even with no eventual invasion or raiding force. They have a form of communication with that device unknown to us. Should we learn its secrets, what might it benefit us here and now? Secure communications our enemies cannot tap? An economic boom? And if the alien were to tell us more about their technology--" 

Dr. Burha had been standing so quietly during the exchange that Gaezhur had forgot he was present. Until he interrupted. "He has not so much as told us his name." 

"Because you coddle him like an infant!" Gaezhur spat back. "At least the Buftanisians are getting something from the female, even if it's just another weed-puller!" 

"Hardly, Colonel," Burha calmly argued, not taking the bait, which actually infuriated Gaezhur all the more. "We have studied his physiology deeply, threatening his life at every turn and yet kept him alive--even against his own will--for future study. We may not have learned of his technology or culture, but we are learning a great deal about his species." 

"What do you have planned next, Doctor?" the Head Councilman asked before Gaezhur could come up with a good counterargument. 

"Cognitive ability and brain mapping," Burha replied. 

The Head Councilman bobbed his head up and down. "You both have valid points, but I think science is still our key to both. Finding out how the alien's brain functions may provide clues as to how to convince him to offer that which we would like to know, invasion force or not. Perhaps after his anatomy has been fully mapped, studies might turn to a more tactical direction, such as vulnerabilities which could also be used to persuade his cooperation." 

Grand Raptor Ussa sighed and Gaezhur sensed his feelings on the argument probably matched his own. "I think that is a workable plan," the Councilman said. It was, Gaezhur knew, and yet he felt like the Raptors had still lost. 

"Do you favor?" the Head Councilman asked the council. The other members stood, showing their agreement, and so Gaezhur knew it was decided. Burha knew as well and left the chamber. Gaezhur stayed. He still had other business. 

The Shirkatisan ambassador came in just as Burha stepped out. His jaw was set hard and his gait was stiff. Gaezhur felt more confident the Raptors would have the upper hand on this issue. 

* * *

The stitches were gone and his abdomen felt better, though Malcolm had some ache when he had to eat or relieve himself. What really hurt were his arms and legs. He'd been pinned to the bed since he had tried to kill himself. By his admittedly flawed reckoning, that would have been over a month ago. He hadn't even so much as pulled defiantly against the restraints since he found out Hoshi was alive. But the orcs apparently still didn't trust that he wouldn't seek to end their little science project the only way he possibly could. They did come in four times a day to feed him and roll him into a different position. Still, lying in the same position for hours at a time was making his joints stiff and causing sore pressure points wherever he came into contact with the not-nearly-soft-enough mattress he was placed on. 

They talked to him sometimes, too. The small one did, anyway. He brought a large pad of paper and a pen each time so he could draw explanations of what he was saying. Malcolm only saw that peripherally. He kept his eyes on the ceiling or whatever was in his direct line of sight, and he tried to let the orc's words bleed into white noise in his ears. The orc mentioned Hoshi's code-name too frequently for Malcolm to successfully tune him out. She was apparently still alive, apparently still in Buftanis, and apparently that was still on the other side of the world. Malcolm didn't understand anything else and fought any urges to try to. That the orc mentioned her name was enough. Enough to know that she was alive. 

The little one wasn't so bad a guy, Malcolm decided. He would call him Smeagol and hope that he wasn't harboring a Gollum alter-ego. He wasn't going to go so far as trusting Smeagol the way Frodo Baggins did, but tolerate him watchfully, as Samwise Gamgee did. Maybe that confirmed he was Sam, after all, he mused. He was more comfortable when it was only Smeagol who entered his little cell. The orc's tone of voice was friendly and didn't sound coercive. And he was the most gentle when it came to feeding, poking, prodding, stitch-pulling and the like. It was as if he, alone among his colleagues, actually had a bedside manner and Malcolm appreciated that secretly. 

Reasoning that Smeagol was actually worthy of a name--and one belonging to a not-so-villainous character--had taken perhaps all of fifteen minutes, and Malcolm was once again plunged into the near monotony of his existence. He slept a lot for lack of anything better to do and to try to let some hours pass without being awake to feel his aches and frustration. He ate when they fed him, turned when they turned him, ignored when they spoke to him, and endured the pain, stiffness, soreness, and weakness that had become his constant companions. He would have much rather been dead. But Hoshi was alive somewhere on the other side of the world. That was the only reason he cared to live anymore. 

* * *

Major Zhenah stood next to the door of the lab. It was nearly the only place he could stand. Dr. Kaife's lab was filled with radios, telephones and numerous other transmitting devices. "I thought you were to use it to transmit and see what method it uses?" 

Kaife nodded. "Yes, but I believe you also reiterated the need for secrecy. If we send out a signal, how far would it reach? Are we ready to take that risk? If it truly is an alien artifact, it would have the ability to reach beyond our atmosphere. Besides, we don't know that Buftanis or someone else has a receiver that--even by chance--might be able to receive our transmission. I think this is the safer way to proceed for now: testing to see what it can receive." 

He had good points. Of course. So Zhenah nodded. "Aren't you going to turn it on?" 

"It is on," Kaife responded. "In fact, I can't determine how to turn it off. There is no recognizable switch. It would appear to be in a passive listening mode." 

"How do you know it's on?" Zhenah asked. "And how do you know it's passive?" 

Kaife wasn't intimidated by the questions. He explained while he went on with his preparations. "It gives off electro-magnetic radiation. All electronics do. When they are turned on. But it hasn't activated. Consider it like a cellular telephone. It is on, waiting for a call. When someone calls, the telephone emits a sound to alert the recipient. This device should do something similar." 

There was a thought. "With cellulars, we can see previous calls. Both in and out. What about this device?" 

Kaife picked up his first device, a hand-held, two-way radio and switched it on. "If it did, how would we recognize the data? Do we have any samples of their written language?" 

Good point again. "Only a handful," Zhenah said, in answer to his question, "but without any oral language we have no way of deciphering their symbols." Kaife still didn't need to know they had any actual aliens in hand. And really, Dr. Kenu had only been able to make some guesses on body language and the one word they'd ever heard the male speak. Zhenah ducked his head to cover his ears against the screeching of the two-way as Kaife cranked up its transmission signal. Trying to ignore the sound, he concentrated on the clues to his mystery. 

They had crashed. And considering they had survived, the craft they'd crashed in must have been obliterated after they had escaped it. So they probably exploded it themselves. They had then tried to walk through the desert toward Kudana Forest. Perhaps to hide amongst the trees. Which meant they hadn't wanted to be found by anyone on this planet. They had a communication device and little else. So they had wanted to be found. By their own kind. And yet, they buried the device before they were captured. So they sacrificed potential rescue to keep the device from the native population. 

There were several ways one could take that. If one looked from the invasion angle, such a device would be a tactical advantage. They could communicate with their people without being detected. The two aliens had had time, however--days, in fact--to contact their comrades. Did they try? Did anyone respond? The answer to at least one of those questions would seem to be 'no.' 

The screeching stopped. The alien device looked exactly as it had before the transmission started. "Has it shown any sign of being activated since we acquired it?" 

"No," Kaife replied. "At least not since I reassembled it." 

No calls, Zhenah thought, or no answers. And no invasion in the months since the two were found. "Is it possible that it is broken and cannot properly receive any signal?" 

"Possible but not likely." Kaife finished his notes on the two-way and picked up another device. "There was no visual damage. Just sand infiltration and even then not even a scratch after it was removed. It's a remarkable piece of engineering all in all." 

So either no invasion was coming, as the Council had suggested, or the invasion forces were waiting for a signal from the two survivors on the ground. Who had had days already to contact them. But no real intelligence in those few days. Would they call troops down now if given the opportunity?" 

There were options other than invasion. The crash was a complete accident and they wanted to be rescued. But no one rescued them and no one, it would seem, has tried. 

Perhaps they were being punished. But if one were to maroon someone as punishment, why leave them a communication device? 

Escape? If they crashed here in an escape attempt, the same question arose. Why the communication device if you don't want someone coming after you? 

The only one who could truly answer these questions would not speak, and, even if he did--and they managed to understand what he said--they would have no way to prove he was telling the truth. So the alien device was presently still their best source for information. Zhenah growled in frustration. He looked around at all the devices in the lab again and was reminded why he hated science. It always took so long to come up with answers. 

* * *

"A lot of times," Besta explained, "it's a choice for the lesser of two evils. Politicians are never perfect choices. Compromise is part of politics so there's always something to dislike or disagree about with either candidate. The conservatives tend to be religious and keep conservative morals, but as a party they seem to value money too much and take a short-term view, sacrificing the environment for the sake of profit, for example. The liberals have been accused of caring more about trees than people. They have a lot of programs to help people but have to tax people to pay for them. So you just have to decide which one suits you best. Neither is going to fit perfectly." 

Enesh still found it boggling. Every time he thought he had decided, he would hear some charge against his chosen candidate which made him doubt. "Which one suits you best?" 

Besta laughed. "Oh, I'm liberal even for liberals! Zheiren didn't get everything wrong. Everyone had a job; no one went hungry. If you were sick, you got treatment at no cost. Education was free. I miss those aspects. Poor people shouldn't have to be uneducated just because they're poor. Or sick. It can cost so much to visit the doctor that people don't go. I want universal health care. I want free education. I want everyone to have a job and enough food to eat." 

Enesh agreed. He hated his former country but not for those reasons. Maybe he was a liberal, too. "The conservatives want people to go hungry?" 

"No, they just believe the free market is the best way to deal with all problems. So companies end up with more power than people do." 

"Which one is the President now? Conservative?" 

"Yes," Besta barked. "And I can't wait until he's gone! That man should be prosecuted and locked up in prison!" 

Enesh was shocked. He had never heard anyone bad-mouth a member of the ruling party. "Shouldn't you say that more quietly?" 

Besta shook his head. "Freedom of speech is something both liberals and conservatives generally agree on. I can call the president a crook and a liar. In Zheiren, I'd be imprisoned for it. Here, we are free." 

Enesh felt a rush of exhilaration and panic. It seemed a different world to him. In Zheiren, it was dangerous to complain. But without complaint, problems never got acknowledged, and with no acknowledgment, there were no solutions to the problems. He had felt he was almost done learning to be a citizen here. He was becoming fluent in the language and familiar with the customs. He was even registered to vote. But now he realized he had so much more to learn. If the president was a crook, what laws did he break? Enesh had not been outside the facility since he had arrived. He didn't know the laws! 

"What if I vote wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried. 

Besta laughed again and clapped him on the back. "You can't. Just vote for who suits you best. Try to learn facts and ignore the rhetoric. Make your best effort to choose and hope your candidate wins." 

Enesh's eyes went wide. "What happens if he doesn't?" 

"You complain a lot!" Besta roared. 

* * *

Baezhu clocked in and then checked the night notes. The alien was no different than before. Still, passive. He was restless in his sleep. His wounds were healing relatively well. 

Baezhu was frustrated with him. He felt sorry for him, strapped to a bed when he'd been flying through space, but he was also angry. The alien never gave them more than the slightest gesture to hint of what he was truly capable. And yet he never fooled them into thinking he was less than sentient. He was purposeful, willful, in his stubbornness. 

He checked the chart and noted the next day's fast. They'd learn things anyway. The slower way. Inter-cranial exploration. Baezhu wasn't angry anymore. It was an aggressive step. Brain surgery was risky. Especially on an alien subject. 

* * *

The door opened and Smeagol came in with a tray of food. Malcolm sighed. Food was good. No food meant they were up to something. Smeagol set the food on a table and then released the restraints and pulled Malcolm to a sitting position. Malcolm secretly hated that he needed the help. But it was his strategy and he could only hope it was working. How long had it been since they had cut him open last? 

Smeagol talked while Malcolm ate. That was nothing new. He was yammering a lot these days. Malcolm let the syllables and sounds wash over him, refraining from trying to find any distinct patterns or familiar phrases. Except one. Frodo. Malcolm had schooled his expression into nothing, but when he hard that name, he paid attention to Smeagol's tone of voice, his body language, and his inflection. Smeagol didn't sound negative or worried. She must be okay. Malcolm fought to hide his sigh of relief. He didn't know what he would do if she were gone. Even on the other side of the world, she was with him in this and he was not alone. 

Smeagol touched his hair, using two of his three fingers to act like scissors. A haircut. _About bloody time!_ he thought and actually hoped they would give him a shave while they were at it. He probably looked like a Neanderthal in all that hair and his beard. Still, it helped to hide his face so maybe it was better if they left it. 

Then he noticed that Smeagol wasn't talking anymore. He pushed back the flap of material that served as Malcolm's sleeve. Malcolm flinched. Smeagol growled and then stalked off. Malcolm pulled his sleeve back down over the bedsore on his shoulder and pondered that growl. Was Smeagol angry? Not at him though. He was angry that Malcolm had a bedsore. And he had left him unrestrained. That had to mean something. 

Unable to resist, Malcolm rolled his head and stretched his arms and legs. He stood up and nearly fell, surprised at how weak he had become. He couldn't go far. There were still tubes that kept him tethered, one of which he was not wiling to pull out. It had been very uncomfortable going in. 

Perhaps Smeagol was becoming an advocate for him. Malcolm still had no intention of speaking or communicating in any overt way. But it didn't seem a bad thing to have one of his keepers actually concerned with his well-being. Maybe--and he really doubted it--things were beginning to look up. 

* * *

This time, they were early. Hoshi was collected in the morning before she and the juveniles were herded out to the fields. Hoshi still wasn't sure how to feel about it. It was a vacation on one hand, but, on the other, it was frightening to be back with the scientists. Either way, she did not resist and followed them back to the lab. She did not want to be with the females once the bleeding started. 

Radagast and Grima--he needed a name, too--led her to her cell and left her with a bowl of warm water and some rags. Hoshi gladly took the hint and began to wash off some of the accumulated grime of the last month. It was feeling more like a vacation and she relished it. She could almost pretend she was in a secluded spa on a retreat. She closed her eyes and tried to fall into that fantasy. She built a bamboo hut around her with lotus blossoms tucked into the spaces between the shoots. She lit the room with candles and began to construct a soft mattress. But the whole thing blew away like a wisp of vapor. She knew she'd never see such a place again. Dreams like that would only break her heart. 

Her period began that evening. They had provided her with rags to deal with it when they brought her lunch. Hoshi looked around the room for cameras or microphones and didn't find any. It was a very plain room. There was a small window in the door, but no one was looking in at her. She very gently tried the knob but it was still firmly locked. 

There could be hidden devices, she supposed. She had to test them. She still had to be vague. If they were listening or watching, she wanted them to react so she would know they could. But she didn't want to actually give them anything useful. 

She had tapped before. So had Malcolm. He wasn't there to hear her now, but it gave her an idea anyway. The orcs hadn't noticed, or they hadn't let her or Malcolm know that they did. So tapping would likely not work, but clapping might. It was physical, very audible, and definitely noticeable. She had to clap something simple and vague to them. Too complicated or elaborate and they might expect more of her. 

SOS. It wasn't exactly vague, but the orcs would not be aware of the significance. So she clapped three times slowly, three times quickly, and then three more times slowly. 

Then she waited, laying down and pretending to sleep. In the end, she did fall asleep. When she woke up the heat lamps were on. No one had come at all. 

No one was watching her and no one was listening. At least not when she was in this room. She decided then that she wasn't going to make the same mistake as last time. She would take this as a blessing, no matter how small. So this was her freedom: a 6' by 9' refuge in a lab where she was studied, surrounded by fields where she was worked as a slave. In this room, it was a vacation. 

* * *

The haircut went well enough, though Malcolm was still worried because they had not given him any food that day. Just water. That was a bad sign. Then Smeagol and another orc had come in with scissors and some shears. He really didn't care if they shaved his head. All the hair would grow back long again before they cut it again. But he was still left with the thought: Would they have him fast just to cut his hair? 

He was sitting on the bed he'd heretofore been strapped to. Several of the tubes remained attached but otherwise, they had left the restraints off. Would they do that if they were going to cut him open again? That question contradicted his worries but didn't really slow his pulse any. In fact, the orcs made a point of that little device he still had on his wrist. 

Long locks of shaggy, tangled hair fell around him on the bed and on his lap. No more hair to hide his face. For now. It felt odd now that he'd had all that hair for so long. His head felt colder. The doctors came in as Smeagol's cohort was finishing the back of his head. Saruman made a point of inspecting the underling's work, and then Malcolm felt a prick at the back of his neck. It pushed in and stung. He knew then that it was more than a haircut. He was being drugged. 

_No, no, no, no!_ Malcolm thought. He wanted to scream it but his whole body had gone slack. He fell sideways onto the bed and the orcs lifted his legs onto it. He could still see. And blink. He tried to follow the orcs with just his wide-open eyes, but he couldn't see far enough. He could feel them though, shaving off the last fuzz of his hair with what felt like a single blade. He couldn't be sure. The only one he could really make out was Smeagol. Smeagol now brought the scissors to Malcolm's face and cut away the length of the overgrown facial hair. But it wasn't gone. The stubbly remains made him itch but he had bigger worries. 

He fervently hoped for even just the initial unconsciousness that happened before any of the surgeries they put him through. But this time, it never came. And this time he could see. So they had left him conscious on purpose. Why would they do that? Smeagol looked at his face and Malcolm thought maybe he saw something in Smeagol's. Was that remorse, sadness, compassion, encouragement? These darn reptiles had such less expressional faces that Malcolm had little way of knowing. As Smeagol backed away, Malcolm felt a brief touch on his hand. Smeagol had done that. 

When Smeagol returned, he was pushing a gurney. The two smaller ones lifted him onto the gurney and started wheeling him out of the room. Malcolm saw the top of the door frame as they passed into the corridor. Fluorescent lights passed overhead as he was moved and then turned into another doorway. The lights were different here and he realized it was not the operating room. He remembered those harsh, blinding lights distinctly from the first time. 

They lifted him again and he was deposited on another bed of sorts. It was huge. There was a large thing behind his head. The table moved and he slid right into it until his head and chest was engulfed in a giant machine. He thought of Phlox's imaging chamber and wondered why they hadn't used this in the first place. It began to hum and he thought he knew exactly what it was. Earth had had such machines for a few centuries now. He tried to relax, tried to hope that this was all they had planned. Maybe it was why they'd left him conscious. 

But the fact that they had shaved his head nagged at him. They didn't need to do that for magnetic resonance scanners or CTs or whatever. 

The machine finally stopped and the bed slid out. Malcolm was once again placed on the gurney and wheeled away. He didn't like where they took him. Surgical lights. 

He was transferred face down onto the slightly cushioned table. His forehead and chin resting on straps fitted into a frame. There was a small monitor on the floor, facing up at him. He kept his eyes on it, hoping irrationally for some encouraging sign there. A small red dot appeared in the black screen. It slowly moved toward the upper-right corner. He followed it. But it just moved again. He kept watching, trying to pour all his attention into that little red dot so he wouldn't hear what was going on above and around him. 

It didn't work. He heard a whirring sound and a terror exploded in him like a white hot light. 

But when it dissipated, he wasn't lying facedown on an operating table. He was standing in a corridor on _Enterprise_ next to one her airlocks. For a moment, he thought it odd. He had never hallucinated _Enterprise_ before. He had only dreamed it when he was asleep. He raised his hand to his head and found only skin where his hair should have been. He slumped to the floor. 

"Malcolm?!" Trip's voice called. "What are you doing here?" 

Malcolm looked up as his friend approached. "I can't hold on any longer, Trip. They're cutting into my head." He pulled his hand down and there was blood on his fingertips. 

"You're supposed to be with the captain," Trip scolded. "You've got to stop the Xindi weapon!" 

"Please, Trip!" Malcolm pleaded. "It's already happened. The captain will destroy it. Please come get us." 

Trip knelt down in front of him. "Malcolm, you know we're not there yet." 

Malcolm wanted to cry. It was just too much. He could hear the buzzing of the bone saw now. Almost like it was inside his head. "Fine," he sobbed, "fine." He grabbed Trip's arm with his bloody fingers. "Then let me stay here with you until you get there. Please, let me stay. I won't cause any trouble. I won't even tell you what's going to happen if you don't want me to. Please don't make me go back there. Let me stay. Please!" 

"Then who's going to look after Hoshi, Malcolm?" Trip replied, softly. He put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Malcolm, you're the strongest man I know. You've got to go back for Hoshi. Phlox showed you how to look after her. Not the captain. The captain'll try to push her. He's got to. You've got to watch out for her, take care of her. You can't go with us." 

Malcolm's heart sank so deep his chest hurt. He buried his face in his hands and closed his eyes. He wasn't so strong, he wanted to tell Trip. Not anymore. He was lost and alone. He hadn't seen Hoshi for months. He couldn't take care of her anymore than he could take care of himself. Blood flowed between his fingers and dripped onto his uniform. 

Trip stood. "Go back, Malcolm." And then he walked away. 

Malcolm opened his eyes and found his hands weren't there anymore. The blood was gone. Pain washed over him in a ring around the top and back of his head. He blinked and a tear fell and splashed on the screen where the little red dot was now doing all sorts of tricks on the monitor screen while orcs chattered above his head. 

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Fourteen**

Author's Note: _Finally!_ It is still very hard to write, though I really had thought it would get easier. Turns out it's not necessary Hoshi and Reed making it harder but the big world I created. 

* * *

When they had finally finished, Malcolm watched the floor tiles as he was wheeled away. He didn't know what they had done. He felt nothing inside his head. The pain was a ring around his head where the incision was made and sewn back up. It started at the top of his head, just above his hairline, ran over his ears and met again low on the back of his head. 

They didn't return him to where he had been before or to the larger room he had shared with Hoshi. It looked somewhat familiar though, from his sideways view. They deposited him on his side on a larger slat of a bed. He could just make out a door at the end of the room. 

When he could finally move, he clumsily felt his neck for the hated tubes. But there weren't any. The catheter had been removed, too. He wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or disgusted that they had finally managed to anesthetize one part of his body successfully. Why hadn't they managed that the other times? 

Very gingerly, he reached up to touch his head. He felt bandages. He tried to sit up but his head felt very heavy. He had to close his eyes against a wave a nausea that swirled about his stomach. He finally managed to push himself up to a nearly vertical position reclining against a wall. 

He opened his eyes and realized why the room looked familiar. He had spent his first month or so in one just like it. The only difference was the large life-support machine in the back corner. That only served to confirm his suspicions that they weren't done with him yet. 

He so wanted to be done. Done with it all. But he thought of Hoshi in Buftanis. Were they doing the same things to her? He would probably never know. 

_Hoshi,_ he thought, sort of reaching out to her in his mind, _I don't know what they're doing where you are, but I'm glad you're not here._

* * *

Hoshi was confused. They hadn't returned her to the fields. Her period had ended days ago. She wasn't complaining about having those days off working, but she really didn't think they were just letting her have the time off. They had to have a reason and Hoshi didn't like the thought. 

She had just finished her lunch when she decided she had gone insane. 

"Hoshi, I don't know what they're doing where you are, but I'm glad you're not here." 

It was Malcolm's voice, as clear as if he was standing beside her. She spun around, looking for him. Had they brought him here? No, not from what he said. How could he say it? 

_I've finally gone crazy,_ she thought. 

"Hoshi?" She heard it again. "I'm the crazy one." Hoshi rubbed her ears. It was definitely Malcolm's voice, British accent and all. It wasn't possible. "I'm the one whose head got cut into. And now I'm thinking to someone on the other side of the world." 

It wasn't in her ears. The voice was in her head. Malcolm's voice. Thinking inside her head. 

_Lieutenant?_ she thought back. Maybe it was crazy, but she liked the idea of company even if it was ficticious. 

"Definitely looney." 

_Maybe we both are because I hear you,_ she replied. _Do you hear me?_

"Of course, that's why I'm insane. You're on the other side of this planet, you know. And I'm not actually talking." 

_Well, I hear you and I'm not actually talking either. So maybe we're both crazy, but at least we can be crazy together._ She waited for an answer and then began to fear her sanity had returned. 

"How did you find out about pineapple?" 

Hoshi sighed and tried to keep the smile from forming on her lips. She had missed him. And figment or not, she wanted to keep him. Then she thought about his question. How did she find out about pineapple? _It's a fruit?_ she thought back confused. 

"No, it's a test. I need to ask you something I don't quite know the answer to. If I did, I could just answer it myself and prove I'm crazy. You found out for my birthday. but I don't know how." 

_Phlox,_ she answered quickly. _He let me see what you were allergic to and told me how you built up your tolerance to bromelin. It's in pineapple._

* * *

_Well, I didn't know that,_ Malcolm thought. _But I suppose I could make it up._

"You could," Hoshi's voice responded. "But I could also tell you that I spoke with your sister, your old roommate, and your two spinster aunts. And the captain spoke with your parents. And none of them knew about pineapple." 

Malcolm's head was spinning. Or the room was. He still felt sick and heavy but this was intriguing. He lay back down before thinking to her again. _If you're Hoshi and not my own imagination, tell me about Buftanis._

"Buftanis?" She sounded surprised. "Is that where I am? Radagast is here, too. How did you know its name?" 

_They told me. It's all I got. You, Buftanis. Me, Zheiren. The planet is Sharu. My head hurts._

Hoshi's voice grew concerned now. "What did they do, Malcolm? 

_My head. They did something to my head. I don't want to think about it._ The lights hurt. The mattress hurt. 

"I--" 

It sounded so much like her that he wanted to believe it really was her. He could almost see the horror on her face as she processed what little he'd said with her own memories. _Don't think about it. What about you?_

"That part is better," she said. "They do something now and again, but I don't know what and I can't feel anything." 

_Small blessings,_ he thought back. He was getting tired again. 

"In between, I work in the fields with the other females." 

_Females?_ That was new. _So they do exist!_

"They're different, Malcolm. And they're slaves." She paused then added, "We are slaves." 

The door opened and Smeagol came in. He had a small bowl with him, and he helped Malcolm sit up enough to drink the juice that was in it. _I almost wish I could understand what he says,_ he thought to Hoshi. 

"Who?" 

_Smeagol. I think he might actually fell bad for me. But then, I am loopy enough to think you can really hear my thoughts._

"Which one is Smeagol? And I don't think I'm loopy and I hear yours. I don't really need to know if it's possible or not, but I want to hear you when you're not loopy. I've missed you." 

_So have I,_ he thought back. _But I'd rather you be a slave than go through what I am here._ He was really dizzy now. Smeagol helped him back down. He prattled on as he checked Malcolm's bandages, his pulse, etc. Malcolm didn't really care now. He wanted to talk to Hoshi. He was afraid, though, that he'd slip up and think out loud. _I have to sleep now, Hoshi._

* * *

He sounded so tired. Hoshi marveled at how much the voice in her head sounded so much like him. _Okay, Malcolm. Try again when you wake up._

Maybe it was possible. They had done something to his head. That meant they had done something to his brain. She knew them well enough to know they had cut his head open. Why else would they? They would have wanted to study his brain. And if human's regularly use so little of their brains' power, it just might be that the orcs tripped some sort of switch. Or she was insane. _Small blessings,_ he had said. Well, that was the more pleasant way to look at it. Imagined or not, she had talked with Malcolm again and she didn't feel so alone any longer. 

The heat lamps came on and she wondered what time it was in Zheiren. 

* * *

"Dr. Bishtae is still writing so much about it," Baezhu told his friend. "We've never seen a brain that complex in a mammal, let alone a primate." 

"Keep it general this time," Kahrae groaned. "I want to keep my breakfast today." The intimate details of the look and feel of an alien's brain hadn't sat well with his stomach the day before. 

Baezhu laughed. "You eat brains every time you eat a rodent or a fish, Kahrae. We eat whole prey animals. That's a lot more than just meat." 

"I know but I don't contemplate how everything looks and feels. I just chew it and swallow." There was a big difference between holding a brain or heart in your hands and just eating either still encased in the prey animal one was eating. 

"Fine," Baezhu laughed. " _In general,_ he has good eyesight and hearing. We can tell by how much area is devoted to processing that information. In fact, all his senses are more like ours than any primates on our world. And it would seem he has a great capacity for memory and information processing." 

"So his brain says he's sentient," Kahrae concluded. "Didn't you already know that?" Baezhu was certainly in the right place. He could be excited about multiple tests saying the same thing. Kahrae had patience for Baezhu but knew he'd never have enough patience to do what his friend did. 

Baezhu corrected him. "Alone, it would be enough to say he's self-aware. But it certainly backs up that hypothesis when we take into account his behavior and other evidence. Like clothes. What non-sentient animal wears clothing? With words or symbols?" 

Kahrae gave him the point. "You mean things like how he refuses to communicate." 

"Exactly. You have to be fairly self-aware to choose to be obstinate, I think. So, you see, it's the clues we gather that makes the clearer picture of reality." 

* * *

Malcolm sat up, trying to shake off some of the grogginess that still threatened to engulf him. They were keeping him fairly well drugged up this time. But he didn't want to be drugged no matter how much his head hurt. He wanted to see if what had happened was real. 

_Hoshi?_ he thought. 

"Malcolm?" Incredible. But then, he was still being drugged. Could that produce the same hallucination twice? "How are you?" 

_Groggy,_ he told her. _Drugs. Could be all this is._

"Not from my end. They don't drug me. They shock me. Something at the back of my neck. They do it and I drop. I can't move at all. Or feel anything, at least." 

She sounded sad. _Isn't that better?_

"Yes, but I'm still awake. I can hear them. I'm not sure I like what they're doing." 

_What are they doing?_

"I don't know for sure. I've got no context for some of their words. I just have a bad feeling about it." 

_Everything about this is a bad feeling,_ he said. _Except you. Even if you are an hallucination._

"They haven't put me back in the fields. They're not done with me yet." 

_Is that where you work?_ He wanted to take her mind off what the scientists were doing. Still, slavery wasn't fun either. _Tell me about the females._

"We work in the fields. I don't know what we're growing yet. I think I know why they don't try to communicate with me, Malcolm. They don't communicate with their females either. They aren't as sophisticated. They don't talk much and when they do, it's rudimentary. Simple words or phrases. They do manual labor, repetitive physical work. They don't seem to understand why they do anything." 

_How do you know all that?_

She hesitated before answering. "I've spoken to one. I'm trying to test her, little by little." 

_Hoshi--_

"She hasn't told anyone. It's our secret. I trust her. She's the closest thing I have to a friend here." 

Malcolm sighed. He couldn't exactly order her anymore. Chain of command was ridiculous at this point, even if he wasn't hallucinating, which was still a possibility. _Just be careful, Hoshi. If they ever realize you can understand, they_ will _try to communicate with you. They'll force you to communicate back._

"She's the only one," Hoshi repeated. "She's a juvenile. Her name is Pipa. She's one of the Winged ones. All the females in my group are. I think I've seen others but, frankly, I've been too tired to bother looking." 

_I suppose there'd have to be other ones,_ he thought to her. 

She didn't reply right away. He thought he heard a door unlocking and looked toward his. But he couldn't see anyone in the window there. "Someone's coming," Hoshi said. "Back to work, I hope. Ah!" 

Malcolm sat up. _What?! Hoshi!_

"Malcolm? I can't move. They're going to do something." 

_What do they do, Hoshi?_ He almost didn't want to know. 

"They carry me to a little lab with a bed and equipment." 

He shook at the thought. He didn't want that for her. Still, he asked, _Scalpels?_

"I can't see any. Just machines with cords or tubes and monitor screens." 

He relaxed. No cutting then. _That doesn't sound so bad,_ he tried to console her a bit. 

"I can see stirrups on the bed!" 

Stirrups? It took a moment for the idea to form. Stirrups held the legs open. Were they molesting her? Was it even physically possible? But then they had done so to him in the pursuit of science. So what would they be doing to her? 

He refused to contemplate that further. _Can you close your eyes?_

"Radagast covered them." She sounded so scared. 

_Don't think about it, Hoshi. Don't think about it at all. Tell me a story instead._

"I can't!" She was crying. "You tell me one." 

_Well--uh--like what?_ He couldn't believe he was stammering even in his own head. 

"Peanut butter," she said. 

_Excuse me?_ Where had that come from? 

"You put it on pancakes. Phlox said it." 

Ah, he imagined it. Maple syrup flowing over the melting peanut butter. _I put it on waffles and French toast, too,_ he replied. 

"Why?" 

_Why not? Have you ever tried it? You'd never want any of those without it again._

She laughed and Malcolm found he was smiling. He stopped. 

But he decided then and there that he'd tell her stories whenever she needed it. _When I was about six, we went on holiday to visit my great-grandmother. I remember sitting in her kitchen at the table. She made pancakes and my mother put peanut butter on them then poured maple syrup over the top. I tried it and it was delicious. I've had them that way ever since._

"What else did you do?" 

_Well, I don't remember much else. I was six. I think we went to a ship. Great-Granddad had served on it, but it was a museum by then. It was the_ Essex _. But that might have been a different year._

"Tell me anyway." 

Malcolm lay back down and forced his memory back to the old ship. And he found it wasn't frightening at all, even though it rocked and swayed with the waves. It was familiar, comfortable. _It was big,_ he told her. _Metal, imposing, I suppose. I remember it was hard to step through the hatches, so my father had to lift me up. There were berthings with rack after rack for sleeping and lockers for every rack._

_We went to the wardroom and the bridge. I remember Father helping me to turn the big wheel. He picked me up and I could see the big guns out the window. We saw the galley with the big ovens and sinks and the mess deck where the sailors would eat. We went to the engine rooms and Father let me press a button so we could hear a recording of the engines. They were so loud I covered my ears._

_It was so different from Father's ship. It was quiet and still with only small groups of people, most not in uniform. But it felt like an adventure was just waiting to start._

"They're done," Hoshi said. "I'm back in my cell. Thank you." 

_Are you alright?_

"I could almost see it, Malcolm. The ship." 

That was good. Whatever they had done, he had distracted her from it. 

"Malcolm," she said, her imagined voice full of weight. "I've missed you." 

Malcolm took that in. It felt so good, so solemn, so like love. But then he was the only other human on this planet, so he didn't want to read too much into it. _I missed you, as well,_ he told her, trying to match the gravity of her statement without implying he had taken any meaning from it but the explicit one. _I was lost here all alone._

"Do we keep hoping?" she asked. "After all this time?" 

_In_ Enterprise? _I don't see we have much choice. They won't let us go. I've tried. We can't escape. So hope is just about all we have left._

"And each other. I can hope now that I hear you again." 

_Maybe I am just crazy,_ he said, _but I'm going to believe that I'm talking to you anyway. I don't feel so alone anymore._

"So shall I tell you about Buftanis?" 

Malcolm listed to all she had to say, marvelling at how much she had managed to learn while slaving in the fields. He was especially curious about the females and wondered where they were kept in Zheiren. He completely ignored Smeagol when he entered and ate his food without thinking. The light went off, the heat lamps came on and he was still catching up on the last few months. He fell asleep that night feeling happy. And that was in an incredible change. 

* * *

"Six viable eggs!" Besta exclaimed. "We have a good place to start then!" 

"I'm still amazed by mammals," Enesh replied, looking at the small dish that held the eggs. "Something so tiny can grow to their adult size." 

Besta laughed. "Well, we start out that small, too, Enesh. Just at a different stage in our development. For us, 'egg' comes together later." He put one egg back under the microscope. "But to a geneticist, the eggs of mammals are not so tiny." He moved so Enesh could look through the lens. "One half of the blueprint for life as one of their species." 

Enesh stood up after looking. "How long until you're ready to implant the first embryo?" 

Besta ducked his head briefly. "Can't be sure. We'll have to monitor its growth. We'll need at least a decent blastocyst. But first, I have to prepare it." 

Enesh watched Besta's pain-staking work. This was still a very new science. There were bound to be many failures, but at least the female's frequent cycles meant frequent opportunities to try again. 

Besta prepared each of the six eggs and set them in the incubator. "It could be only a day or two," he said. 

"How many do we implant?" Enesh asked, wondering if the female's womb could even manage multiples. 

"By nature, she produces one egg per cycle, so that is our best route, I think. And if it takes, the fetus will not have to compete for resources." 

Enesh thought of something else. "If it takes, should we return her to work with the other females?" They females attacked her when they sensed her cycle. How would they react to a pregnant alien? 

Besta contemplated that for a few minutes. "We could start the hormones early." 

"What hormones?" Enesh knew that some of the females would be given birth control when Turn came, but that was months away. 

"They're more productive if they're not distracted by sexual competition," Besta explained. "We put hormones in their food to keep them in a non-sexual state. They don't fight each other or distract their guards. They just keep working. After harvest, we decide which group will stay that way and which will be moved to quarantine." 

"And those regain their fertility," Enesh finished. It sounded like a good option. And it might work to keep the alien occupied and reasonably healthy, unlike the male, whose muscles he'd learned were beginning to atrophy. 

"We usually start in the early autumn." Besta went to the computer. "I'll have to get this approved but I think our exceptional specimen will buy us some time with Director Goti." 

* * *

Major Zhenah entered Kaife's lab with the latter's report in his hands. "If I understood this," he said, holding it up, "you've made progress." 

Kaife bobbed his head in answer. "Limited progress but progress none the less." 

"It received a signal then?" Zhenah set the report down on the table by the little alien device. 

"Three, in fact," Kaife responded. "One just barely, and the other two fairly easily. Basic radio had the strongest reception, in certain frequencies." 

Zhenah didn't get it. Not one, but three signals received by a device not of this world, a device whose technology was far advanced from theirs, and this was limited progress? So he asked, "How exactly is that limited?" 

Kaife responded quickly. "None of them comprise its basic form of transmission. I had to tune them in, so to speak. Set in its default mode--the one it was found in, nothing touches it. In a sense, you could say the thing is 'backward' compatible. It can pick up various more primitive wavelengths. But it natively uses something else entirely." 

Zhenah sighed. "Something alien?" 

Kaife chuckled at that. "Exactly. So now I'd like to see what it does natively transmit in." 

Zhenah wasn't so sure. What if someone _were_ listening? But that brought him back to his earlier questioning. He decided to confide in this Raptorish Winged scientist. "Dr. Kaife, I have not told you much about the origins of this device, but if I tell you more, perhaps you can help me with what may be an important dilemma." 

Kaife leaned on his chair. "I'd be glad to help anyway I can." 

"Only as a sounding-board, I'm afraid." Zhenah paced away a few steps. "I still can't tell you much. The device was found after an unknown craft crashed in Rihansu. No wreckage larger than a coin was found at this site. Two beings were found later. This device was buried where the two were found." 

Kaife stood up in shock. "Beings? I-- I know you said this was alien but I didn't go so far as to think of actual beings. What are they like?" 

Zhenah held up a hand. "I am sorry, I'm telling you more than I should already. They are like that device, in a sense. The only sense you're likely to get clearance for. My dilemma begins like this: The beings walked away from the wreckage and yet the wreckage was completely obliterated." 

Kaife sat down again, but his eyes were wide with interest. "So they destroyed the wreckage after surviving the crash." 

Zhenah bobbed his head. "They walked away with very little. They had clothes, a blanket of sorts, food packets and water." 

"Essentials to survive in the desert," Kaife commented. 

Zhenah bobbed again. "And they had this. And yet they buried this in the sand so we wouldn't find it. Why did they save it and then why did they bury it?" 

Kaife thought a moment and then started thinking aloud. "It's a communication device, so they must have expected to communicate with someone." 

"Someone here?" 

"Not likely," Kaife said, "though I'll need to run more tests to know for certain." 

"Then someone else . . . somewhere else?" 

Kaife was silent as he pondered that. Zhenah waited. Finally, Kaife gave his thought. "Rescue, I'd think. I wouldn't think they'd planned to crash here." 

"Then why bury it? They couldn't call for help without it?" 

"Would you have let them if they'd kept it?" 

Zhenah took that point. "No, probably not. We'd take it for study." 

"So they didn't want you to study it," Kaife concluded. "Because then we might learn something we wouldn't have learned on our own, at least not for some time. Like some form of technological contamination. If we can reverse engineer this device, we will have a tactical advantage over Buftanis. Maybe that changes the balance of power for all Sharu. And maybe they don't want their outside influence to decide such things." 

That was a new idea. And it fit with some other things in Bishtae and Kenu's reports. But so did some other, more nefarious theories, like these two being forward scouts of an eventual invasion. They'd had the device to keep their advantage out of Zheiren or Buftanisian hands. It wasn't perfect, but at least Kaife had given him another option to consider. 

"If you're hypothesis is right, and you use this to transmit, will their rescue come?" he asked Kaife. 

Kaife shrugged. "I don't think so. They had some opportunity to use this before they were found, yes? No one came then. I've had it for some time now and apparently no one has come still. So I would hypothesize that no one out there is listening." 

"But are the Buftanisians? They told us where to find it." 

Kaife smirked. "I think I know a way to find out." 

* * *

They came back for her in a few days and Malcolm had managed to find another pleasant memory from his earlier childhood to tell her. A Christmas memory. Mother had taken Madeline one way in the toy department of the store while Father had taken him another. Each was supposed to pick out a gift for the other. Malcolm had spotted the perfect toy. So perfect, in fact, that he had wanted it for himself. It made him so sad to think she would have one and he wouldn't. So he'd asked if Father thought his sister would ever let him play with it. A week or two later, Christmas came. Madeline and he opened their presents from each other while sitting on the floor with the gifts between them. He just knew she'd be so excited by what he'd found. And he hoped she let him play with it. He was sure the one he got from her could never be as good, simply because the one he'd chosen was the best ever. 

She was terribly excited when she opened it. Her expression of joy and surprise felt good to Malcolm. He opened his present and sent the same expression back to her. Madeline had picked the same toy for him! They were both so happy that they reached over the toys and torn paper to hug. _It was quite possibly,_ he told her, _the best Christmas ever!_

"That's not how I imagined you as a boy," she said. 

_Oh?_ He felt a bit excited that she'd even tried to imagine his childhood. But he also knew this could lead to darker memories that he was not so sure he wanted to share. 

"I imagined you more like . . . well, you, only smaller." 

_And what does that mean?_

She was quiet for a minute and he worried about what she might say. "Quieter," she finally began. "Professional--which is silly because you had to be a kid at some point. I imagined you shy and reserved." 

_That would come,_ he thought, but not to her. He waited a few seconds to see if she'd heard anyway. She didn't say anything. _Me,_ he confirmed, to her this time, _only smaller._

"Yeah, but I know it couldn't be like that. I've seen that kid you remember in you sometimes. Usually with Trip." 

Malcolm felt a wave of sadness at the name. _He was my best friend,_ He couldn't shake Trip's angry face from his waking dream. 

"Is," she corrected. "We're still hoping, remember?" 

He didn't want to tell her about those dreams he'd been having about _Enterprise_. _Yeah,_ he said. _It's hard sometimes._

* * *

Enesh watched anxiously as the results started coming in. The television scrolled the numbers by and it was close. It was hard to think he could be so excited and scared by an election. A year ago, he'd have never even dreamed it. It was a chaotic, unstable way of governing, or so the Council said. And perhaps, to some degree it was, but Enesh found he really liked having a part in it. 

Just that morning he had cast his first ballot. Then he and Besta had delivered the embryo to the female's womb. Another camera went in as well. The shipment of hormone had arrived that afternoon also, which meant the female would be returned to the workforce in less than a week. They'd know by then if the embryo took. 

By dinner time, the polls had closed on the east coast. The result began to trickle in little by little then faster and faster. They were coming close now to the breaking point. 

"It's a tight one," Besta commented. "Very close. Either candidate just needs five of the last seven districts to win." 

"I've studied it in detail these last few weeks," Enesh told him, bobbing his head. "It's complicated enough that it took that long. Our votes decide who our district would elect. Then the candidate with the majority of the districts wins the whole thing." 

Besta bobbed his head in return. "Yes, not a direct election, but a compromise." On the monitor, another district went to the conservative candidate. "Damn." 

"It's not over yet, right? Our candidate still has a chance." Enesh had been getting worried, but he looked to Besta, who had been here longer, for confidence. 

"Yes, but now there are only six, and he has to win five of them. And they're all in the southwest. That area leans conservative." 

To confirm his statement, another district went for the conservative candidate. The next surprised even the commentators and went for the liberal. But Enesh knew now that his chosen candidate would have to win every one of the last four. He found it hard to even breathe. 

"Kalinai district has reported in," the commentator stated. "We can know call the election for Farest Gudai and the Conservative Party." 

The breath seeped out of Enesh's chest. Besta fell back onto his chair. "That's it then," he said in a near monotone. "We lost." 

"What will happen to the country?" 

Besta shrugged. "Usually not much. There are checks and balances which keep things pretty stable from election to election, but a President can have a big influence. And President-Elect Gudai will bring a strong one to the right, toward a tough stance with Zheiren. We could be closer to war." 

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

>

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Fifteen**

Author's Note: _Finally!_ I think this one may not be as dramatic as some, but by calling it done, it helped to inspire me to start writing Chapter 16. I'm 5 scenes in now. 

* * *

Lasaya Katon was one of the last century's biggest actors. Though a Burftanisian, his films were popular even in the Zheiren capital--on the black market. Given, the last century ended twenty years ago, but it was recent enough that everybody--whether or not they liked the actor--knew exactly who he was. 

Lasaya had conviently become a bit of recluse. He hadn't made a film in more than five Turns. He was not a present star as actors went, but a waning superstar which made him perfect for Zhenah's plan. 

"Are you certain about this, Major?" Kaife asked. 

Zhenah was confident. "Doctor, what are our possible outcomes?" 

Kaife sighed, "No one hears it." 

"In which case there are no consequences." 

Kaife sighed again. "Or someone does hear and we start a global frenzy." 

Zhenah laughed. "Worst case? His spokesman informs the media of the truth." 

"And someone mounts and investigation as to who began the lie." 

Zhenah clapped him on the shoulder. "And what will they find? It will be over before they have a chance to even decide to trace it or record it." 

"And if they managed anyway?" Kaife pushed. 

Zhenah turned serious. "Then I will take responsibility. You are simply following my orders. Proceed with the transmission. 

Kaife took the paper with the fake announcement and lifted the device. "An informant with the Setera District security forces has confirmed the death of renowned actor Lasaya Katon in his home in Petor Valley, Setera District, Buftanis. Homicide has not been ruled out." He snapped the device closed. 

Zhenah clapped him on the shoulders again. "Now we wait." 

* * *

Something was different. Hoshi followed Pipa and the rest of her barracks outside. It was now stifling hot with a deep blue sky clear of any clouds. The plants were getting big now. Weeds were still a threat, but watering and fertilizing were also part of the daily routine. 

It wasn't that the work was different. It was, in a sense, but Hoshi wasn't concerned with the work. She didn't care really what they had planted and were now tending. She was slightly interested in the final produce as a clue to the society of the world she and Malcolm were stuck in. She was most concerned with what Radagast and the other Wizard were doing to her body, but since she had no control over that, she concerned herself with her mind. To keep sharp, she studied the culture, the interactions, the language, the politics she could witness from her position as slave and laboratory subject. 

So what was different was the way the females were acting. Not Pipa. She was again curious about where Hoshi had gone. The other juveniles were likewise unaffected. The mature ones, though, they sniffed her and then walked away shaking their heads as if they had smelled something they didn't like. They kept it up, too. Anytime one of them would pass her in their work or at lunch time, she was sniffed and found, apparently, off-putting. 

And that made her wonder all the more what the scientists had done. 

* * *

When the bandages had come off, Malcolm was glad he had no mirror, and he pointedly avoided shiny surfaces that might inadvertently show him what he looked like. He could feel the stitches though: an odd ring around his head, always at least a centimeter or two into his hair line. The scientists, it would appear, cared enough not to permanently mar his appearance, and he had to admit they were pretty good at plastic surgery. One would have to know where to look to find nearly invisible scars all over his body. The problem was that he did know where to look. 

They never removed the stitches. Eventually, a stubbly fuzz of hair grew back on his head until he could no longer feel the difference. He hoped that meant they were absorbable. 

Hoshi was back at work again. She'd tell him about what she saw and what she was doing when she wasn't too worn out to think. Of course, there was a time difference between them. It was early afternoon by the time she joined him in their minds. She had to spend her nights alone. He had to be alone in the mornings. 

It was morning now, and he missed her. There wasn't much to wake up to without her. But it was, in a small way, a relief as well. He had told her so many stories in the last couple of weeks that he worried he'd run out of good ones. He didn't want to burden her with the less happy memories of growing up. Mornings gave him time to find the good memories that he might share with her later in the day. 

Fortunately, as her days became more routine, there was more conversation than storytelling. Malcolm enjoyed that in a way he never thought he would. He'd never just sat and talked for hours with a woman. Hell, he hadn't much with anyone since he was a child. Except Trip. Even then, Trip did more of the talking. Malcolm had learned early on to keep to himself. It kept him safe. But it also kept him distant. Now, he was talking with a woman half a world away about nearly every detail of his daily existence and listening as she shared about plants and people, the weather, and such. All of it was fascinating. 

Baezhu returned a couple hours after breakfast. He had his hands full with a box and a long clear tube. Malcolm switched his thoughts to calling him Smeagol. Instruments could not mean anything pleasant. Another orc and a couple of the Wizards came in after that and Malcolm knew he was in trouble. And it was too early for Hoshi. 

When they approached his bed, he had to quickly decide whether or not to fight them. The odds were, as always, astronomically stacked against him. There were four of them and he had only himself. They were in a closed room. He had no weapons and was in no shape for hand-to-hand combat. 

So he stayed still when they grabbed his ankles and arms. He didn't resist as they strapped his arms and chest. But he did close his eyes. He didn't want to know what they were going to do. 

Oddly, they only strapped down one leg. Only hands held his right ankle. Another hand rubbed some sort of cream onto his calf. It was cold but not in the least painful. Malcolm became curious then when he felt the razor. It scraped over his skin but did not cut or bite at all. 

He raised his head and watched as best he could as they shaved his leg from knee to ankle. He was even more curious when they opened the tube along its length and snapped it around the shaved area. He felt two bands tighten snuggly around his ankle and just below his knee. Even with all they'd done to him up to this point, he couldn't imagine what they planned to do with his now encased leg. 

* * *

Hoshi felt trapped. Her arms and chest were tied down. And one leg. Something cold and smooth was clamped around the other. She expected to see Radagast when she opened her eyes, but it was Saruman bending over her leg. Only it wasn't her leg. It was a man's leg. It was Malcolm's. 

Hoshi jerked awake. The heat lamps were still on and Pipa was still sleeping beside her. Her hands were beside her head as she lay on her side. It was a dream. She closed her eyes and told herself to get back to sleep. She worked too hard not to rest when she had the chance. 

Thankfully, Hoshi fell into dreamless sleep until she was awakened by the guards. As she stretched, she remembered the dream--odd in itself. She was seeing Malcolm's leg and Saruman was doing something. _Malcolm!_ she thought as loud as she could. He, it seemed, was the telepathic one, so it was easier for him to initiate. 

"Your turn," she heard back. Malcolm's voice was pinched and strained. 

_For what?_ she asked. _Malcolm, are they doing something to you? What?_

"My leg," he replied. "Burns. A story." 

His leg. That had to be something important in this whole telepathic thing they had going on. But now wasn't the time. Malcolm had told her stories during her 'procedures' and it was her turn. _Well,_ she decided, _I think my earliest memory was sitting on my bed listening to the maid talk to herself. She was Samoan, though I didn't understand that at the time. I was three and it was raining outside._

She stepped into the bright sunshine and wished for a little of that rain. She hadn't seen or heard rain for weeks--at least not when she was working. She wasn't sure when she was with the scientists. Her room didn't have a window. 

_Well, Mom came home and I told her some of the things I had heard. She didn't believe me. I'd tell her in Japanese, of course. Every week, the maid would come and clean. She'd talk the whole time, in something other than my language. I think I used to think she was talking to me, telling me what she was doing or about her day. But that wasn't what I told my mother. The maid's brother was a drunkard and her husband only encouraged him, smoking and drinking and such. If her man would get serious about life, maybe she could have an apartment like ours and her sister-in-law could do the cleaning._

_My mother asked my sisters where I'd heard such a thing. They both swore they'd never heard the word 'drunkard' before and that the maid did talk all day but they didn't know what she said._

_When the maid came in the next week, I started talking to her. I asked her what a drunkard was. She was surprised but I guess she figured I had learned in school or something. She said not to worry about that and asked how school was instead. Mom came home right then, and I told the maid I don't go to school. Mom dropped her keys right on the floor. The maid just laughed and went back to work. After that, Mom dragged me to a school to be tested. Mom told Daddy how my hearing was off the charts and the language center of my brain was abnormally active for my age._

_I started hearing languages all around me. Mom put some on the computer and Dad had always liked Italian so he taught me some. It was like music, all of it. Different music, but music. It started as noise until I could feel the notes, the syllables fall into place, until the melody, the grammar, formed. Then they were laid out before me like a director with a score. I could see all the parts, pick out the harmonies. I could hear the words as if I had always known them. I would speak them, read them, write them. After that, it was private tutors. Lots of them, all for different languages._

"Were your sisters jealous?" Malcolm asked finally. Not as pinched, but still tense. 

_Not really,_ Hoshi admitted. _They teased me. But eventually they found their own gifts. One is a musician, the other a mathematician. Are they done?_

"For now," he replied. "On the bright side, it's better than being cut open." 

_And on the not-so-bright-side?_

"I think they tested things on my leg. One felt like acid, another itched. Some were just cold and sticky." 

Hoshi wiped the sweat from her eyes and stretched her back while the adult females drank the water from the pail she carried over. _I think I dreamed it, Malcolm. I think I dreamt what you saw._

He was silent for a few minutes. Hoshi took the empty pail and started back for the spicket. Her arms were aching already. "Intriguing. Can you see what I'm looking at now?" 

Hoshi closed her eyes as the water filled the pail. She concentrated on his voice and tried to imagine what he could see. _No,_ she replied and turned off the water. 

"We'll have to work on that." 

* * *

"He's physiologically much like our primates," Dr. Geeben stated after the first substance tests. "So far anyway. He's perhaps more fragile in this regard as he's not covered in dense fur." 

"The acid was probably a given," Bishtae said. "Alien or not, it had to burn such soft skin. It burns ours. He nearly choked on the pain. We needn't be so careless in the future. A local anesthetic could keep pain out of the equation." 

"He was remarkably calm under the circumstances," Burha agreed. 

But Baezhu didn't. He kept that to himself. Dr. Burha had neutralized the acid so that the alien would not likely have permanent damage. And the alien had not cried out. He had, though, tensed against the restraints. He was still stiff when they released him and left the room. The acid was stopped from damaging him further, but the damage that was done was still burning him. 

There were over forty more substances planned: oils, bacteria and plant enzymes. This experiment was assigned by the Council. They would gain not only scientifically by observation, but militarily. By finding what on Sharu was damaging to the alien, it was hoped biological or chemical warfare could be designed against a potential invasion only Raptors now believed even remotely possible. 

Not Kahrae though. He figured the aliens were gentle since Baezhu often told him about what they had learned. Besides, he was more concerned with Shirkatitsa and the upcoming Turn. For months now, their breakfast conservations had been all about the aliens. Now, as no invasion had come, life had returned to some semblance of normal and the conversation diversified. Kahrae was more serious now, and Baezhu realized he was, too. 

For Kahrae, it was Obek and the Council and rising tensions between Zheiren and Skirkatitsa. For Baezhu, it is what he was seeing in the alien's face. In his eyes. Of course, he did not have any reference for interpreting the alien's expressions except for non-sentient primates who couldn't tell him if they were sad or hurting either. Still, when he saw the alien, he couldn't help it anymore. He felt the alien was suffering, unhappy, bored at times; fearful and distrusting most of the time. If only he would talk so they could know and maybe ask questions to get answered instead of vivisecting him. 

* * *

It had only been a month since the election. Enesh was so excited to have voted that he almost forgot to be disappointed his chosen candidate had not won. Besta had kept himself busy with work, though he complained in the evenings over dinner. Enesh wasn't too worried though. It was a free country and all its citizens valued that freedom. No candidate could be so bad that Enesh would wish he hadn't come to Buftanis. 

Still, he was quite surprised when the director announced the President-Elect would be coming by for a visit. The sitting President hadn't, though, of course, he had been briefed. Farest Gudai arrived with a large security contingent, though only four came with him from the airship. The rest fanned out over the grounds. 

Enesh stood with Besta and the other scientists and looked hard at the Lesser Raptor who would soon be the leader of the country. Incredible! A Lesser could never hope to lead anything in Zheiren. Gudai was stiff and formal as he greeted the director. Then the director brought him over to stand directly in front of Besta. 

"Doctor Besta defected decades ago, sir. He's likely the most brilliant geneticist in Buftanis." 

Besta inclined his head. "Thank you, sir," he said. "I'm happy to be of service. And may I introduce our newest citizen here? Dr. Enesh." 

Gudai moved to stand in front of Enesh. Enesh felt flustered. He'd never even been in the Council Chambers before. He took his clue from Besta, though, and inclined his head. "I'm very glad to meet you, President, sir." Oh, he hoped he said it right! Then he realized his mistake! Gudai wasn't President yet! But do they call him President-Elect to his face? He was mortified. 

But Gudai just chuckled. "Not bad for five months. You speak our language well. So you are the one who brought our 'guest.'" 

"Yes, sir. It is only a female but we hope to produce a male of our own soon." 

"So I hear. And it's a primate? Incredible. I must see this creature." 

"It is waiting for you in the genetics lab as we speak, sir," the director broke in. "Dr. Besta will lead the way." 

* * *

Hoshi didn't know why she was taken from the field. It was too early for her period, though she did have cramps. For that, she was glad she wasn't working. Still, going to the lab before her period was not routine and that did not bode well. 

And it was the lab she was taken to, not her little room where she spent her period. They shocked her as soon as they entered the corridor and she went limp in the arms of her minders. They dragged her into the lab and laid her torso onto a table. They lifted her again and her shift was pulled up over her head. That couldn't be good. _Malcolm!_ she called out, hoping he was listening for her, that he was awake. 

The orcs dropped her back onto the table then flipped her over onto her back so that she was facing the ceiling. She didn't understand it. Radagast and his buddy weren't even in the lab. She heard the door open and close and realized she was alone. Why? Why had they brought her there only to leave her lying naked on a lab table with no one else in the room? 

_Malcolm!_ she called again. It was afternoon here so it had to be evening there, late evening. He was probably asleep. 

"Hoshi?" she heard back. "What's wrong?" 

She let out a sigh. She was not alone after all. _They brought me to the lab again. They took my clothes and left me here. I don't know why?_

"Try not to think about it. You can't change it. You can only get through it." 

The door opened and Hoshi heard voices. "Right this way, _Keta Kofedash._ " Hoshi didn't understand those last words. She felt the cold of the table beneath her though and tried to move her arms. They wouldn't move. She tried her legs. They were tied at the ankles. 

She felt the shock again and went limp. "Here it is, sir." It was Grima again, not Radagast. "Don't worry, it's restrained and immobilized." 

A new face appeared over hers. It was fierce-looking and full of long, sharp teeth. 

_They're showing me off to someone._

"Do you want to find out who," Malcolm asked, "or do you want to be distracted?" 

He had a point. She was curious. And so far he was doing nothing other than looking. She'd had that and more in her first month in Zheiren. _Keta Kofedash_ were the words she didn't understand yet, but he was obviously important. _Okay, just be ready. For now, he's just looking me over. Not fun but I've had worse. As long as it stays like this, I want to learn what I can._

"Just never let them know you're learning." 

_Of course._ She turned her attention, not to the faces, but only to the voices around her. 

"As you can see, it is female. It is also bipedal and has five digits on each limb. She's bigger than our primates--" 

"And has less hair," the newcomer interrupted, "in most places." 

"Yes, her head, of course, has quite long hair. Her genital area and underarms have shorter, courser hair more consistent with our primates," Grima said. Hoshi noticed he was doing all the talking. Radagast still had occasional flaws in his grammar. The new one was important enough to not let Radagast have the chance to mess up. 

"However," Grima went on, "she does have hair on most of her body. It is just shorter and finer. See here on her forelimbs." Hoshi felt hot breath on her skin. The shock was wearing off. She kept her eyes on the ceiling. 

_He's important,_ she thought to Malcolm. _He's not dressed like them. Not a scientist. He's the same species as one of my guards._

"Does it speak?" the new one asked. 

"If it can, it has not," Grima replied. "It has the physical capacity for vocal sounds, but has rarely made only monosyllabic sounds, and usually only while it sleeps." 

Grima had switched to a feminine pronoun for a bit, but now he had reverted back to the neutral "it" as the newcomer had. 

"And Zheiren has a male." The new guy did not sound pleased. 

"They do," Grima confirmed, "but we are working on that." 

Hoshi's neck arched as the shock hit her again. That wasn't a good sign. She was strapped to the table after all. She didn't need to be zapped unless they were going to do more than look. _School is over, Malcolm. Distract me. Tell me a story._

* * *

Enesh removed the straps on the female's ankles as Besta explained their plan to clone the male. Not only then would they have a male, but they would also have an infant. They would be able to chart its growth from fetus to adult. But first, they needed a fetus. Today, they would, as the President-Elect looked on, check the status of the blastocyst they had implanted earlier. The camera had malfunctioned and had to be removed as well. They had not seen inside the female for a week. 

Enesh positioned her knees and inserted the scope into her vagina. The image from the camera on the end of it flashed onto a display on the monitor beside the table. What it showed, however, was not the embryo they had hoped for. The view in the uterus was little different than before the female's menses. He could find no embryo, no blastocyst. There was blood on the lens. She was miscarrying. 

"We have five more viable eggs, sir. Cloning is not an exact science. It took sixteen tries before the first successful cloned mammal. Each case now seems to take less unsuccessful tries. And this female is fertile every twenty-eight days. We could hit sixteen tries in a little over a year. We should certainly succeed by then." 

"And why not simply fertilize her and create a natural infant?" President-Elect Gudai asked. 

"The male's sperm determines the gender," Besta replied as he helped return the female to her prone position. "The female's eggs have only X chromosomes. The male's sperm may carry either X or Y. There is no guarantee of a male offspring." 

Gudai looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned away. "What else do we know about them?" 

"Biologically, quite a lot, even genetically. But sociologically, politically, and culturally, we know nearly nothing." 

Enesh nearly gasped when Gudai turned to him. "You've been with them longest. What do you know or even guess about them? Are they hostile?" 

"Hostile?" Enesh responded, praying inwardly that he wouldn't mess up the grammar, "no, I don't think so. Rarely even aggressive. The male only fought when he felt threatened--or when the situation wanted to make him feel so. The female has proven quietly docile. She knows her place, it would seem, and does what she's told." 

"And what does the male do, day in and day out?" He seemed to ignore the errors Enesh knew he made in his grammar. 

Enesh thought more carefully about his words and word order. He tried to keep it simple. "He is bored. He seems bored and yet he willfully refuses engaging. He does not speak; he does not do anything." 

"And what is Zheiren doing with him now?" 

Besta fielded that one, and Enesh was glad. He did not like espousing guesswork in a language he was not fluent in. "They are testing his reaction to various chemicals applied to the skin. Before that, they did an in depth analysis of his brain." 

"And they send you everything?" 

Besta inclined his head. "They send their findings. We do likewise." 

The President-Elect paced away a few steps. "See if you can get the data, not just the findings. You might see something they miss." 

One of the attendants stepped into the door. "Sir, we need to be going if you're to make your next appointment." 

Gudai waved him off then took Besta's hand. "It was good to meet you, Doctor. Keep up the good work and get that male infant. The sooner we have it, the less we are dependent on Zheiren." 

Then he was in front of Enesh again. "I hope you're liking our country," he said as he took Enesh's hand. 

"I am, sir," Enesh replied. This was not the candidate he had voted for, but he hardly seemed an ogre. He took his leave and was gone. 

Besta waited until he was down the stairs. "Damn! I know it was too much to hope we'd get it on the first try, but so soon? And when the next President visits?" 

To Be Continued.... 


	16. Chapter 16

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Not a word," Kaife stated. 

"You're certain?" It wasn't that Zhenah distrusted him. It just seemed surprising somehow, that no one at all had commented on the false statement of Lasaya Katon's death. 

"It was ridiculous enough to put it to the Media branch," Kaife explained as he leaned against the table. "They scoured every broadcast, every newspaper article, every e-statement in every country for any mention of Katon. There were a couple of tabloid bits. Nothing mentioning his demise--or lack of one--at all. And there were no related calls to the Setera District security headquarters, either." 

Zhenah sighed. That would do it. "Well, it's good news really. We have a new form of communication no one else has." 

Kaife bobbed his head. "I was hoping to test it more openly. If we can keep transmitting, we might find a way to detect or even receive the transmissions." 

"It can receive the transmission," Zhenah reminded him. "Why not just reverse engineer that one and create more?" 

Kaife was quick to answer. "Because we only have one. We can't risk damaging or destroying it. I have inventoried and examined all its parts, though. I will definitely be trying to recreate it as that would be the simplest way to build a receiver for its signal." 

Zhenah thought of the possibilities. If they could detect the signal, they would know if anyone else tried to use one, be they alien or simply Buftanisian. If they could build something to communicate with it, they would have an unprecedented tactical advantage. "We are supposed to share our findings with Buftanis, you know." 

Kaife stood up. "Well, we don't have to tell them the truth," Kaife responded. Yes, Kaife was definitely the right type of Winged, Zhenah decided. 

* * *

"He's remarkably similar to our primates in this respect," Doctor Bishtae summarized. They had finally finished all the chemical tests. Baezhu had spent the last week cataloguing everything. Bishtae was presenting their findings to the rest of the staff. 

"Of course," he went on, "we already knew he had some allergies and we can attribute some differences to that. In fact, small percentages of our primates suffer from the same allergens. In short, in this regard, he closely resembles the _ekanon_. What is caustic to them is caustic to him." 

"He has been," Burha agreed, "biochemically speaking, remarkably similar throughout. Which is good, or they both might have died on our operating tables the day they arrived. We sedated them successfully thanks to our knowledge of indigenous physiology." 

"Our next exploration will involve environmental elements," Bishtae said, moving on. Baeszhu was sure he wouldn't be like an _ekanon_ in that. _Ekanon_ were hairy primates which thrived in high altitude forests. 

"Has he sufficiently recovered from his wounds?" Dr. Geeben asked. "If he hasn't, severe cold or heat could alter his endurance and give an inaccurate result." 

Bishtae waved a hand. "His scalp has healed nicely and he has no lasting injuries from the chemical tests. He's as ready as we can make him. He's weak due to lack of activity but there isn't much we can do about that." 

"Perhaps he needs a more stimulating environment," Geeben suggested. 

"He used to perform calisthenics in his room," Burha told him. "He stopped after our first exploratory." 

Baezhu thought he knew why. That first exploratory had told the aliens what was in store for them. Before that, the male had kept his options open, stayed strong. After, he perhaps knew he had no options except a more passive resistance. So he allowed himself to weaken, which slowed his healing between procedures, and so, slowed the procedures. 

"He is a stubborn one," Bishtae concluded. "And I think we can say that empirically." 

* * *

Hoshi had spent another week in her cell in the lab. It wasn't a vacation for her this time. She was bleeding though she was sure it was too early for her period. To be honest, Malcolm had long since lost track of days, and the weeks weren't far behind. How many months had it been now? It was a never-ending nightmare for both of them. She had it easier, in some ways. The work distracted her most of the time. She tested Pippen. Everyone significant had to have a code name, so Pipa was Pippen. Malcolm had only four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. 

His only bright spot on his hemisphere was Smeagol and that was only a relatively bright spot. He was simply slightly less dark. Bright was Hoshi, having someone to talk to, someone to care about. And he did care about her. He had some idea what they were doing to her. She didn't want to face it and he didn't make her. It was their agreement together. When something bad happened to one, the other was to distract them, carry the burden of the communication. 

Malcolm looked at his leg. The plastic cylinder was gone. But there were still patches of sore, inflamed skin. It wasn't fun, but all told, it wasn't having his stomach cut open and intestines pulled out. No, this was the least terrible thing they had yet done to him. 

It was morning. At least he thought it was. There was more noise outside his room. But the heat lamps had not gone off. 

Smeagol entered with food and water. He said something that probably equated to "good morning." Malcolm decided to chance something with him. He waited until Smeagol was looking him in the eye and then looked up to the ceiling with raised eyebrows, hoping Smeagol got the question even if he wouldn't understand the answer. 

* * *

The male alien looked at the ceiling and his expression seemed quizzical. That was a breakthrough! Baezhu stole a glance at the camera in the room. The male was facing away from it. But Baezhu was facing forward. Anything he said would be picked up by that camera and the microphone there. He was at a turning point and he had to decide. Would he share this subtle attempt at communication with the others? The male, it was obvious by now, stubbornly refused to interact. Baezhu felt it was the only thing the alien could control. Would he take that away from him? 

But then, the doctors had encouraged him to talk to the male since the moment he had told him about the female and he stopped trying to kill himself. So he could tell the male about the heat. He just had to do it carefully, like he was trying to explain it to a creature that would not even acknowledge him. "The heat," he said, pointing to the ceiling, "will stay on. We are testing heat. And you. Drink water." He pointed to the bowl and made a drinking motion with his other hand. 

The male must have understood part of it. He sighed and started eating his breakfast. Baezhu tried hard not to smile. If the male had gone for the water, he would have proved to the camera--and the scientists--that he had understood. 

"Did he react at all to what you told him?" Kenu asked as Baezhu entered the office. He sounded hopeful. 

"He just stared as usual," Baezhu said. He had decided. 

* * *

The bleeding finally stopped and Hoshi found herself glad to be going back to the hard, hot work in the fields. It was hard, yes, but it was honest work. Nothing nefarious except being forced to do it. The lab was something else. Something she didn't want to face. She had Malcolm distract every thought of it from her. 

He did and she found something in her heart. He was so private that his own parents didn't know he loved pineapple. And here, in this bleakest of circumstances, he was opening to her, telling her about his life. She knew even now he was holding back, hiding things he thought would put him in a bad light. She wasn't so naive as to think he had an idyllic childhood. She wanted to know those darker times in his life. She wanted to know why he hid so much even from his family. 

And she wondered if she would feel the same if it was Trip who was marooned here and turned telepathic. Or Travis or the captain. Was it Malcolm or just anyone who was the only other human on this planet? So she imagined it--Trip instead of Malcolm--and looked for clues. He would be companionable but would he give so much as Malcolm? Trip had no problem conversing about his life. For Malcolm, it was a sacrifice. And besides, she thought of times before this, times when he had been there for her, piqued her interest, or just been the one she turned to. He had mistaken her attempts to get him to confess his favorite food as a come on. She was mortified but admitted to herself that she wasn't completely adverse to the idea. When she was hearing voices and seeing a stranger, she turned to Malcolm, who quietly checked and didn't deride her for being crazy when he didn't find anything. And he was on Degra's ship tending to her, trying to shield her from the captain's desperation after her abduction by the Reptilians. All evidence she had called up before. 

But there was also the time she showed up topless at his door. She was brusque with him at the time, but she was secretly amused at his shocked expression. Few things shocked Lieutenant Reed. After that, he was all chivalry and never brought it up again--as far as she knew. 

No, Trip or the captain or Travis wouldn't do. Malcolm had already had a toehold in her heart before they even crashed. 

"Heat," she heard. 

_What?_ She needed a little context. _It_ is _hot here but I don't think that's what you meant._

"It's going to be hot here, too," Malcolm replied. "From what little I understood this morning, it's their next game. 'How hot can the alien take it?'" 

_How hot? How long?_

"I have no idea, but I'm betting it will be until I get heat stroke." 

_You can play it up,_ she suggested, hoping it wouldn't come to heat stroke. _It would have to get hotter than here, because I'm in it, but maybe you could fake it after that._

"I can try, but I can't fake not sweating or a change in my pulse, anything of that manner." 

_Well, it's worth the try. They might stop._

"True. How hot is it there?" 

_Good question. I don't have a thermometer. I'd guess it's like Georgia in the summer. 35 Celcius maybe._

"I'm probably getting close to that. So you're back to work?" 

_Weeding, watering, fertilizing. The usual._

"The other females still acting strange?" 

Hoshi hadn't thought about that. _I don't think so. I gave them water earlier, and they didn't sniff or pull away like that._

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts. How's Pippen?" 

_She was glad to see me, as always. They kind of bob their heads and click their beaks lightly when they're happy. The females seem much more open with their emotions. Like children are._

* * *

_What would Trip think?_ Malcolm thought to himself. Trip had not let Charlie be an inferior person in its (was it a he or she?) neuter gender. He helped it see it was as smart as the others and nearly upset a whole civilization. Personally, Malcolm had agreed with what Trip had done. Professionally, he did not. 

Hoshi told him about her first meeting with the females, how they talked, how they ate and worked and related with each other. In this case, it didn't seem as though the females were kept as inferiors. They really were inferior. And so they were used as slaves and didn't even know enough to ask for freedom. 

The heat was stifling already. Hoshi had an occasional breeze. Malcolm had still, stale air. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes and he brushed it away. How hot could a person take anyway? At least they brought him water. They would end their test a lot faster if they didn't. But then, Hoshi would be alone and he didn't want that, no matter how bad it got for him. 

The heat lamps were glaring red, bright enough to hurt his eyes. It was like a twentieth century tanning booth on steroids. Malcolm realized his skin was going to burn and wrapped his sheet around his body and head. It was white. Hopefully, it would deflect some of the heat, too. 

* * *

"What is he doing?" Kenu asked. "Covering up in the heat?" 

"It's white," Baezhu spoke up. "White reflects heat. Perhaps he's trying to shield himself?" 

"Well at least he's moving," Bishtae noted cheerfully. "He's reacting. Let's enjoy it while it lasts and learn what we can." 

"He's uncomfortable in the heat?" Kenu offered. 

"If he wasn't, he'd hardly try to shield himself from it." 

Baezhu was still unsure. "Weren't they found in the desert, in dark clothes?" 

"Their ship crashed," Bishtae replied. "They may not have planned for the desert. Buhra did say they looked rather withered. And they were wet with salty, pungent liquid, as our male is now. Perspiration. His body is attempting to regulate his temperature." 

"And so far, it's managing," Geeben broke in. "It's barely raised even one degree, while the room has raised ten. We only have one mammal, one creature, on our world that regulates internal temperature by perspiration, and that's through sweat glands on the back of its legs. This one perspires wherever it has skin!" 

* * *

"The President stands firmly in support of the Shirkatisan protesters as they stand for freedom against the tyranny imposed on them by Zheiren." 

"Those poor people," Enesh said as Besta turned off the monitor. They had tuned in to the afternoon news broadcast during break. 

"Why do you say that?" Besta challenged. "Because of what Zheiren may do?" 

"What Zheiren will do," Enesh replied. "If not now then after Turn when the Raptors have the Head Council seat." 

Besta took a deep breath and sighed. "I hadn't thought about that. Right at Turn, too? That will make them even more hot-headed." 

Enesh laughed. "It makes all of us hot-headed! Every major war in the last three centuries was started after a Turn." 

"And the bigger ones were when the military--Raptor or not--was in control," Besta agreed. "Well, let's hope the Shirkatisans can break free and build something strong enough to hold Zheiren back by Turn." 

"Buftanis is the only country that can hold Zheiren back. With every male Raptor in the military, Zheiren has the largest military in the world. Shirkatisa doesn't have a chance." Enesh felt a weight on his chest when he thought that, and, once again, he was glad to be in Buftanis. 

"Unless we step in," Besta said softly. "Our new President will be more likely to do so than the one we have now. We really could end up with war." He clapped Enesh on the shoulder. "Come. The tests should have something solid by now. Let's see why our little blastocyst didn't make it." 

They had retrieved the blastocyst as well as other uterine material from the rags the female discarded. They were unable to determine anything about the uterine material. With only one female, they had no way of knowing if her womb was optimal for bearing a child or if it was abnormal and posed a toxic environment. The blastocyst was somewhat decayed, so they were testing its DNA more fully to try and determine if there was a flaw which kept it from thriving. It would take a week, Besta had said, to produce the entire genetic structure for analysis and then likely another to analyze the data and compare it against an uncompromised sample from the male. As they reached the lab, the machine was just beginning to spit out a long paper full of genetic data. 

"I realize you're not a geneticist," Besta said, handing Enesh another stack of paper, "but you should be able to handle a side-by-side comparison." 

Enesh nodded. "I can do that, but if we find a discrepancy, you'll have to figure out what it means." 

* * *

"There were protests in Shirkatitsa," Obek said, startling Kahrae again. Four hours of silence preceded that statement. Not for the first time, Kahrae wondered where Obek got his information. The news never showed protest in the satellite countries. It could encourage dissidence. 

"Oh?" Kahrae said, trying to stay non-committal on the topic. He felt Shirkatitsa should know better but he also didn't want to go to war to help them learn that. 

"What are they protesting?" Obek asked. 

"Whatever they usually protest." Kahrae tried to sound disinterested. 

Obek answered his own question. "Freedom. And do you know why?" 

"Because they want more, I would suspect," Kahrae replied. "I doubt they felt they had too much of it." One of these days, Obek was going to get in trouble and Kahrae really didn't want to go down with him. 

"But why would they want more? Why would they want? According to the Great Plan, each has what he needs. It's a beautiful system. Why would anyone protest it?" 

_Because they were protesting the actual implementation of it,_ Kahrae thought. He didn't answer aloud. Obek, for all his talk, could be a plant. He could be trying to trick him into saying something treasonous. Given that his last guard partner turned out to be a spy, it wasn't unthinkable. 

"What happened to the protesters?" Kahrae finally asked, hoping he could keep Obek answering instead of asking. 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" That did surprise Kahrae. 

"Not one arrest. In fact, it's still going on. In fact, they are now protesting the arrest of their ambassador here in Zheiren." 

"That should have kept them from protesting!" Kahrae was shocked. Zheiren could not--would not--allow Shirkatitsa to mock something meant as a punishment--a threat. "Are they asking for war?" 

"They know it's too close to Turn. In four months, every soldier would be pulled home. No, they'll have time to play until after Turn. Then we'll force our brand of the Plan on them." 

* * *

The heat was unbearable. Malcolm guessed it was over 50 degrees. The metal parts of the bed were hot to the touch. Malcolm had crawled under the bed earlier to be in the only relative shade in the room. It wasn't much cooler but he couldn't stand having light from the heat lamps touch his skin anymore. He thought maybe now he knew what it meant to have his skin crawl. The sheet covered most of him, but it was stifling underneath, and even if he was under it, some part of him was always exposed. 

His pulse was fast. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the band on his wrist blinked rapidly. They hadn't brought him water since dinner and it had to be night by now. His mouth was parched. Sweat was nearly pouring off of him, so he wasn't having heat stroke yet. He tried to lie down and sleep but the sheet stuck to him everywhere and felt confining. And the air was practically unbreathable. It was like trying to breath in an oven. He was afraid he'd pass out from lack of oxygen. 

Hoshi had talked with him all day while she worked. She'd gone to sleep, exhausted, at least an hour before. So Malcolm was alone. To try and take his mind off the heat surrounding him, he tried to see what she was dreaming. If what they'd already done could be considered an "audio" channel, what Hoshi had dreamed when they were shaving his leg could mean there was a "video" channel. She dreamt what he saw. Now he hoped he could see--in his mind--what she was seeing in her dreams. 

It was just too hard to concentrate. He felt dizzy and every time he thought he was concentrating hard enough, he'd fall asleep and then jerk awake when the sheet tangled his movements. 

The door opened and one of the orcs came in. Cool air whooshed into the room and Malcolm caught a breath of it. The orc sat a bowl of water on the floor by the door and stepped back to close it. Malcolm nearly cried. Water. The bowl was water, but to get it, he'd have to leave the shade and enter the oppressive light from the lamps. The door closed and Malcolm debated with himself. Could he make it to the door? He could take the sheet with him. But the white tiles on the floor were hot, too. He'd burn his hands and knees trying to get there. He certainly couldn't manage walking. 

But he needed the water. He rolled onto his side and kicked at the soaking sheet to loosen it up. He got up on his hands and knees and promptly fell back down. Water. He had to try again. But he couldn't even raise his head. "Water," he breathed as his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness. 

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque

**Chapter Seventeen**

"He spoke!" Dr. Burha stood up so fast that Hinath was startled in the doorway. 

"What did he say?" the Lesser asked. 

"' _Wawta,_ '" Burha responded as he grabbed his equipment. "It must mean 'water.' He'd have to be wanting water, and water is what you carried in. We must get in there, though. He's passed out." 

He checked the supplies as he hurried to the room. He had a salinated, eletrolytic drink and a cold mister. That would do for starting treatment if it was only heat exhaustion. Heat stroke was more severe and they couldn't risk that. "Turn the temperature down by thirty degrees, Hinath." 

Stepping into the room was like stepping into an oven. It was hotter than the hottest part of the summer in Rihansu. The male was still sprawled on the floor and the bracelet he wore was beeping rapidly with his pulse. Bishtae was right about the pungent odor. It was the same as when he had found the aliens only stronger here in the overheated room. 

Burha set the mister on the other side of the alien and pulled the wet sheet off of him. His arms and legs were a pink color that briefly turned white where he touched the male's skin. He was burnt. Without fur, his skin was vulnerable to burning. It looked mild at the moment but the light in the room was red from the lamps so he couldn't be sure. He decided to leave the alien under the bed where he had retreated, presumably to get away from the light. Burha flipped on the mister and adjusted its arms so that the mist fell on the alien's whole body. It had enough liquid for thirty minutes. 

Burha shook the alien's shoulders and splashed some water in his face. The alien moved and groaned but did not wake. Burha tried again. He had to get him drinking. 

"Wake up!" he shouted. "You must drink this. We're turning it down." Already he could feel a lessening of the heat. Not a cooling really, as it was still very hot, but a decrease in its intensity. 

Hinath entered behind him. "Let's turn him over," Burha ordered, pointing Hinath to the alien's legs. Together, they flipped him onto his back. Burha slapped his face gently until his eyelids began to flutter. "Hold him up, Hinath." 

Hinath ducked under the bed at the alien's head and lifted his shoulders as his eyes opened. Burha held the bottle of electrolytic drink to the alien's lips, hoping he would know how to drink from such a vessel. All they'd used up to now was a bowl. But the male seemed to comprehend that he needed the liquid and drank easily, even in his semi-consious state. 

Even with the temperature dropping, it was getting too hot for Burha. The heat was still too high. He and his kind could withstand the desert for hours but this was still hotter than that. Even with the door open, it would take twenty minutes at least for the temperature to stabilize. He couldn't stay that long. He had to work fast and then hopefully leave the male here as long as he was surviving. 

The beeping was slowing, meaning his pulse was slowing. The mist was cooling his skin. His internal temperature was only slightly higher than earlier in the day. He was still sweating which meant his body was still regulating his internal temperature. 

"We'll leave the bottle with him, Hinath. I think he's improving." Burha stood up to leave and Hinath laid the male down again. He must have been feeling better, too, because he pushed himself up to a reclining position against the back wall and took another drink from the bottle. 

"Do we go to endurance now?" Hinath asked. 

"Maybe," Burha waited until Hinath closed and locked the door. "Or maybe we'll just wait until he asks for water to give him more." 

Hinath nodded. "I'll bet Kenu's going to be excited." 

Burha chuckled. "Yes, now he'll have two words to work with." 

* * *

"You think he survived the night?" Kahrae asked. Baezhu was wolfing down his breakfast. 

"Of course," his friend answered with his mouth full. "But only because Dr. Burha is there." 

"Then why are you in such a hurry?" 

Baezhu sighed. "Because he's suffering in that heat, Kahrae. I could see that before I left yesterday." 

Kahrae worried about his friend. He usually knew better than to become attached to research subjects. He decided it was better to change the subject. "Well, you can't go in early, even if you choke on your food. You didn't get permission. Besides, this is the only time in any day I get to see my friend, remember?" 

* * *

Baezehu sighed again and set down the last of the rodent he was eating. Kahrae was right. He looked across the table at his friend and realized they had barely talked of anything other than the alien for months. And it was Baezhu talking and Kahrae politely asking questions to keep up conversation. 

"I'm sorry, Kahrae," he finally said. "You're right. I get eight hours with him each day and only one with you. And I've known you far longer. We don't even have days off anymore to spend together." 

" _I_ do," Kahrae said. "But I know the alien is life-changing stuff, so I'm alright with just breakfast. Just give me breakfast, okay?" 

Baezhu smiled. "Deal. So what's been going on in the world outside the lab? It seems like I've been missing a lot." 

Kahrae's answer shocked him. "War." 

"We're at war?" Baezhu found it hard to believe that he'd missed that. 

"Not yet," his friend replied. "But it's very likely. There are protesters in the streets in Shirkatitsa." 

Baezhu feld sick. "Who told you?" 

"Obek. I don't know how he knows, but he knows things." 

Shirkatitsa was a small country. There was no way it could win a fight against Zheiren. Protesting was akin to treason. The Zheiren military took a perverse delight in dealing with treason. "They'll be slaughtered," he thought out loud. 

"Not until after Turn," Kahrae confirmed. Baezhu didn't want to imagine it. He liked peace way more than war, even if it was against Buftanis. Besides, his best friend was in the military and might get sent to the front and killed. That was too awful to contemplate. "How do you know all this?" 

"Obek," Kahrae said. "He said we arrested the Shirkatitsan ambassador. And I overheard Colonel Gaezhur saying he ought to be skinned." 

It had to be true then. Turn was only a few months away. War had always seemed like a threat that stayed fairly on the horizon. The satellite states knew their places and Buftanis knew it would do the world no good (as well as Zheiren did) to pick a fight. Nobody wins when the planet is destroyed. But Buftanis felt it had to be the protector of the world, as if it always knew what was right. Would they step in to protect Shirkatitsa? Would the threat become reality? 

The concern must have been present on his face because Kahrae tried to change the subject again. "Try not to think about it too much, Baezhu. Think about Turn instead. Any news on the quota?" 

They sat for another hour talking about Turn and what Kahrae might do on his day off. Then Baezhu headed for the lab. 

He arrived at Dr. Bishtae's office just as the the doctor did. Kenu was already there and he was practically bouncing. Something had happened. 

"He spoke!" the linguist exclaimed. 

Burha added happily, "And we know what it means." 

Bishtae sat down with his beak hanging open. "What happened?" 

"He fainted just as Hinath brought water. He left it by the door and the alien tried to get it but collapsed, but not before whispering ' _Wawta_ '. It's their word for 'water'." 

"He's alright?" Baezhu asked in alarm. He checked the notes to see how hot the room was. 

"He's fine. We got him hydrated and brought the temperature down to a tolerable level. He's due for more water now and breakfast. I was thinking we could use this. Make him say 'water' to get water." 

Kenu perked up. "Maybe he will identify other things if he wants them enough. He could say 'food' or 'light'." 

Bishtae considered it for a moment before speaking. "Only if it doesn't jeopardize his health or our schedule. We switch to cold tolerance in a week." 

* * *

Hoshi woke with the noise around her. She was still tired but she was getting used to the life here, not that she wanted to. Anyway, it was better than the lab. The lab! 

Suddenly she remembered Malcolm, who was always stuck in the lab. And his was getting hotter and hotter last night. _Malcolm?_ she thought as loud as she could. _Are you alright?_

"That depends," he replied. "I survived the night but not without drama. I apparently passed out, just after saying 'water' out loud." 

That was certainly drama. It must have gotten terribly hot. _What are they doing about it?_

"The heat or the word?" 

At least he was being playful. That was something. _Both._ It was nearly time to head out to the fields. 

"They turned the heat down to a more tolerable level, but not so tolerable if one doesn't have water. And now they won't give it to me." 

That alarmed her. _They won't give you any water?_ How did they expect him to survive? 

"They won't _give_ me any. I have to pay for it by saying the word. This could be the start of a bad trend." 

_Are you going to call their bluff?_ They wouldn't let him die, not when he was the only human they had. 

"As long as I can." 

_I'll try and keep you distracted. But first, I want you to tell me how or why you grew so fond of explosions._

He laughed. They must have turned the temperature down significantly. He'd had no sense of humor the night before. 

"NI3." 

She had to think for a moment but then her college chemistry kicked in. _Nitrogen tri-iodine. What does that have to do with blowing things up?_

"Chemistry class in secondary school. The teacher had a hypnotic voice that threatened to put me to sleep every day, but one day he fascinated me. He had this substance called NI3. It had the consistancy of peanut butter. He put some on the counter and then stepped back and slapped it with two meter-sticks taped together to reach farther. It exploded. Not hugely, but it did. He said the stuff was so unstable that it would eventually blow itself up. Sort of fired the imagination." 

* * *

They were certain now. Enesh had found the first variant in the genetic code. After that, Besta had found more and more. The blastocyst had started out fine but as the cells split and multiplied the defects manifested themselves and spread. It would be years before they could ascertain which genetic markers controlled which trait in the aliens but it was easy to determine that the defects in this one made it inviable. 

"Well, if cloning were easy," Besta said, clapping him on the shoulder, "there would be thousands of them roaming the countryside. No one has ever succeeded on the first try. We'll use two eggs next time. Maybe one will develop further than this." 

Enesh tried to swallow his disappointment. Of course, it wasn't likely to succeed the first try, but he so had wanted it to. Then he would have a male to study again, and one who wouldn't have any inhibitions about talking. Of course, not growing up in its own culture, it wouldn't speak their language so they couldn't learn it and it wouldn't posess any knowledge about the culture to answer questions, but it would still be an improvement over a mute, unintelligent female. "She should be fertile again in two weeks," he finally said. 

"Well, then, we'll have to carefully thaw two of the frozen embryos. We should have plenty of time." 

* * *

"The plants are getting big now," Hoshi was telling him. "There are little buds but I still don't know what they'll turn into. But the job got much worse this morning." 

_Oh? How so?_ Malcolm was glad he could think to her. He didn't have enough saliva to swallow, let alone talk with his voice. 

"It's apparently bug season. There are these eight-legged beetles about one and half centimeters long. They come in the heat of the day and try to eat the buds." 

_They don't spray the plants with anything?_

"I guess they're going organic. But really, why would they need insecticides when they have a captive, servile population who thinks it's Mardi Gras?" 

_Mardi Gras?_ Malcolm tried to picture the dinosaur-like beings decked out in garish costumes parading down Bourbon Street. It didn't work. 

"We remove the bugs by hand, Malcolm. They eat them. It's like candy by the way their acting. Pippen is practically giddy." 

Malcolm suppressed a smile. _How do they taste?_

"I wouldn't know, but they're very messy when you smash them. So now I'm gathering them up in the box I kept from lunch. They can be a late night snack for the girls." 

Malcolm tried to stretch but he was still under the bed. The mister had long since stopped misting and he'd pushed it out of the way. He'd gotten tired of the wet, stinking sheet and had tucked one side of it under the thin, hard mattress so that it draped like a make-shift tent. That must have caused an uproar with the orcs and Wingeds wherever they were watching him from. They came in ever hour or so. They would hold up a bottle of water, cold enough that little bits of ice still clung to the sides. But he hadn't said it so they hadn't given it to him. 

It was early evening now. He'd held out that long. Hoshi and he had been talking the whole time since he'd answered part of her questions about explosions. He'd answered the "how" and not the "why." He wasn't ready for that yet. The companionship kept his mind off the water--or lack of it--most of the time, but he didn't know what he'd do when Hoshi finally had to sleep. Hopefully, he could sleep too, and then he'd wake up later, still thirsty, but unaware of it for the eight hours or so that he slept. 

The door opened and Malcolm peaked out of the sheet to see it was Smeagol. He didn't have a water bottle. Malcolm felt relieved. He couldn't be tempted if they didn't bring water. Smeagol did have a clipboard though and some basic equipment, the equivalient of a stethoscope and blood pressure sleeve. 

_Smeagol's here,_ he told Hoshi. 

"More water tempting?" 

_I don't see any._ He let the sheet fall back and leaned back against the wall. A few moments later Smeagol lifted it and said something, probably something about checking his vitals. Malcolm made no move to help him. So Smeagol had to crawl under the bed with him. And when he did, he placed himself between Malcolm and the camera that aimed toward the foot of the bed (and thus under it). 

As he reached for the pen in his pocket, Smeagol surprised him. Instead of the pen, he pulled out a small, capped vial of liquid. " _Wawta_ ," he whispered as he handed it to him. " _Tafa kana!_ " 

_I think he's offering me water--free of charge._

"Could it be a trick?" 

_I don't know. I get a sense that Smeagol's different. Besides, what have I got to lose. If I drink this now, maybe I can hold out longer without talking to them._

"Okay, but be careful, Malcolm." 

He took the vial and poured it into his mouth. If it wasn't water, it sure tasted like it. Smeagol checked his pulse, breathing, blood pressure and wrote notes on the clipboard. Then he took the empty vial and slipped it back into his pocket. He spoke again then crawled back out from under the bed. Malcolm heard the door open and close. 

"He said he'll try again tomorrow, Malcolm." 

Malcolm sat up straighter. How had she heard? _You heard that?_

"Yeah, I guess I did. It was clear, though quiet. It was in Zheiren and I don't think you speak Zheiren. How did I hear it?" 

Now he knew he'd make it though the night. The little bit of water had fortified him, and he now had a new puzzle to work on with Hoshi. _Maybe I can hear what you hear._

"We've had a bit of sight, too," Hoshi reminded him. "I dreamt what you saw. Tarquin could make me see things, illusions from his mind. Maybe you can do that, too." 

* * *

Dr. Bishtae sighed as they prepared to leave for the day. "Is he so stubborn as to die of thirst?" 

"He has said only two words in the seven months he's been here," Kenu said behind him. "I feel like I'm wasting my time. We're going to have to find ways to make him talk or I'll go crazy. I can't make anything of the symbols on their clothes unless I have something, some sounds, to go on." 

"If he weren't sentient," Baezhu spoke quietly, "I'd think he's just not going to thrive in captivity. The _kenara_ will not breed in captivity. He wouldn't when the female was here and yet they say she's fertile every twenty-eight days. The _faresa_ even refuse to sing in captivity just as he refuses to speak." 

"An interesting observation, Basezhu," Bishtae replied. "But he _is_ sentient. He doesn't speak for a reason. What could his reason be?" 

Baezhu thought that perhaps he knew but he had to be careful not to let Bishtae or Kenu or anyone know that he'd sided with the alien. It wouldn't be good for any of them. "Well, the military would think it was to hide military secrets. If he doesn't talk, we'll never learn to understand anything he is finally made to say. Or maybe his people have a rule about contaminating more privitive cultures, so he's trying to keep us from learning anything about his culture. 

Kenu wrinkled his eyebrows. "Why would it be contaminating? He could help us." 

"Like the Buftanisians helped the Native Karatans?" Bishtae asked, arguing--to Baezhu's surprise--Baezhu's case. "They were the technologically advanced society, and they felt they would help the Karatans advance. They killed them with disease and then guns when the Karatans didn't want to sacrifice their culture to the cause of advancement. They lived an ecologically balanced life with their environment. The Buftanisians brought pollution with their industrial revolution. Advancement can cause great destruction, especially when a culture isn't ready for it. If that is why the alien doesn't speak, I'd say he comes from a benevolent culture and we have nothing to fear. But since he doesn't talk, we can't truly know his motives. We must learn from him in more subtle ways." 

At that, they passed through the last door. Above them, the sky was golden as the sun began to set and the air blew hot still on their skins. Sometimes, Baezhu wanted to tell Bishtae what he really felt about the alien. But he knew that Bishtae--outcast as he was before the aliens crashed--would never defy the system. He would not commit treason. And some would say what Baezhu had done today was treason. He had crossed that line when he gave the alien water in secret. He would not take anyone else down with him. 

* * *

Hoshi Sato worked alongside Pippen quietly, following everything she did. But at mid-morning she was called away for water duty. She and Malcolm had experimented, trying to hear outside sounds through the telepathic link he somehow provided. But as she reached for the handle to turn the water on, she realized she didn't want him to hear running water. 

Even though Smeagol had slipped him a little water this morning, he was still so thirsty. This would be his second day without any other water, and it was getting harder for him. When he told her stories, they inadvertantely came around to drinking something. 

He even told her about his time on Risa with Trip, a startling revelation about a serious loss of dignity in which he and Trip were led into a basement under false pretenses by two beautiful women who turned into alien men, stole their clothes, and left them tied up until Trip broke a bottle of pungent liquid and cut them loose. Only the last part was not the part he expanded on, though it would naturally be the climax of the story. Instead, he spent ten minutes or more telling him how each beverage they'd tried had tasted. 

Hoshi had only listened peripherally as he talked about the drinks and glossed over the women they had seen or been duped by. She didn't call him on it either. She knew he couldn't help it. He was just so thirsty. She was just glad he kept talking. When that stopped, she'd be worried. 

But she had listened carefully to the brief telling of waking up in his underwear with his hands tied. It was quite an admission. Lieutenant Reed, as she had known him before was very dignified, even when joking or upset. From everything he'd told her of his father--so far--he was dignified at all times. But in this instance, Malcolm and Trip had been made into fools and he didn't shy away from telling her so. It was, perhaps, the deepest thing he'd ever told her about himself. 

She, in turn, had told him of the gambling ring she'd run at the Academy. Really, it was just a traveling poker game, but she'd gotten a little out of hand with the instructor who, in the end, succeeded in breaking it. She succeeded in breaking his arm and getting dishonorably discharged. At that, Malcolm had replied that he was very glad they let her back in. 

_Anything?_ she asked him. He'd been trying to hear again as she passed the water around. 

"No. I can't hear anything. Maybe it won't work this way. You heard Smeagol from here. Maybe it's only one way." 

_Maybe,_ she replied. _And maybe not. You have a lot going on to distract you._

"I _need_ to be distracted." 

_I know, and I'm happy to help. But maybe we need to go about this differently. Let's pretend it's a real technology for communicating, like the comm system in the shuttlepod. We can visualize a console and use it to open various frequencies. One like we have now and one for external sound._

He didn't sound convinced. "Just pretend?" 

_Visualize,_ she insisted. _Build the console up circuit by circuit and we'll try again when it's louder, lunchtime, maybe. Building it will make it seem more real. Try it._

Hoshi could pretty much throw one together in a few seconds, and they had a couple of hours. She really did think visualizating a communications console would help but she did have ulterior motives. She had to think. 

He had started something with the Risa story. He had opened a part of himself she'd never known. Something he wouldn't tell someone who was just a friend. He wouldn't have told Trip if he hadn't been there. And then there was his "I'm very glad they let you back in." She felt like something that had been creeping up on her had just pounced and left her feeling flustered and a bit weak in the knees. She was glad for the routine physical work she could manage without conscious thought. 

She remembered when he'd thought she was coming on to him, back in that first year before his birthday. He'd stammered and said it would be awkward as they worked together. Now they didn't. Did it matter now that he was a lieutenant and she was an ensign? She wanted to know. She wanted to hear more about his foolishness with Trip. She wanted to know why his family had changed, as she'd surmised they had. She wanted to everything that made up Malcolm Reed. Everything she loved. 

* * *

Smeagol did make it back with a secret, small vial of water. When he managed it again in the afternoon, Malcolm decided that Smeagol was very different from the other scientists. He was no orc. The other scientists weren't evil. He knew that. But they weren't the good guys either. They went about their studies regardless of Malcolm's feelings about them. Smeagol--Bayzhoo, as he said called himself--cared about how Malcolm felt about how he was treated. 

He'd obviously broken the rules by bringing him water, or he wouldn't need to hide it. And he thus skewed the scientific results of their latest experiment. Malcolm was thirsty; there was no denying that, but those vials of water had helped him keep his tongue. At this rate, he just might pass out from dehydration and still never say another word. 

"Smeagol is your Pippin, Malcolm," Hoshi said. 

_Yeah, but I can't talk to him._

"I might be able to help with that." They'd been working on that. 

Malcolm looked at the camera on the wall. The red light wasn't on so they weren't recording. But he knew they were watching in real time. _Someone else would be sure to be listening in. That's why he always comes in under the foot of the bed. He blocks the camera. And he whispers so the camera mic can't pick it up._

"It's lunchtime. Concentrate." 

Concentration was a challenge, but they'd been trying this all morning without success. There was too little going on and the thirst and heat were too distracting. But now that there would be something going on, Malcolm decided that concentrating just might distract him from the thirst and heat. He closed his eyes and imagined a console in his mind. It had only two controls on it but there were spaces for more to be installed. The controls were labeled Audio I and Audio II. Audio I worked just fine. They'd been using that for months. It was set on Active right now. When one of them went to sleep, it was set on Passive, so that Hoshi could call out to get his attention. 

Audio II was experimental. Its settings were On and Off. This would allow, if it worked, a pure audio channel, real sounds instead of thoughts to pass between them. He toggled it on and listened intently. 

There was very little sound in his room, which helped. He tuned out what was there, mainly the bracelet beeping out his pulse. But there was nothing beyond it. He was so thirsty. _No concentrate!_ he told himself. _Focus on Hoshi._

"Anything?" she asked suddenly. 

_No,_ he replied. _Wait!_ There was something just behind her voice. A bustle more than anything. He mentally added a knob by Audio II and turned up the gain. He heard voices, a murmor of hundreds of voices punctuiated now and then by louder shouts. _Someone's shouting,_ he told Hoshi. 

"The guards or overseers or whatever you want to call them. The girls can get rowdy at feeding time." 

Malcolm turned the gain up more. He listened above the din of voices and heard birds squawking. _You have birds!_

"They're a bit more like bats, really. No feathers. They look a bit furry and they have have leathery wings." 

_What else do you hear?_

"The breeze moving the grass and cracking the trees. The bugs coming toward the fields. . . ." 

_You're incredible. Full open, Hoshi. I want to hear it all._

Everything suddenly got louder, but as he listened closely, he could pick them out: the voices of the females, the shouts of the overseers, the squawk of the bat-birds, the soft sigh of a breeze with a rustle of the grass and the occasional pop of a twig. Then there was a low undulating hum. The bugs. 

"So visualizing a control board helped?" 

That was muffled. He turned down Audio II. _What was that?_

"Visualizing helped?" 

_Yes, very much so. I had to turn down Audio II just to make out what you said. Is this even real? It seems so unbelievable but I couldn't imagine these sounds or all you've told me._ It was astounding, almost like he could live two lives. One was the terrible one in which his physical body sat dehydrating in the hot room of the laboratory. The other was a wondrous one in his mind where he talked with a beautiful, smart, caring woman and now even hearing through her superior ears. 

"Real or not, it's happening and I wouldn't trade it for anything, except leaving this planet. Though I think I'd like to keep it even then." 

Had she really just said that? She'd want to keep talking with him telepathically even if they were rescued? He would want to keep it, too, he realized, but he didn't want to assume anything on her account. _Me, too,_ he told her. _It's the best thing that's happened to me since we crashed. Or maybe even before._

"Malcolm?" She sounded hesitant. "You're all I've got and I wouldn't want anyone else, not that I'm glad they're doing what they're doing to you--" 

He interupted her. _You never need that disclaimer again, Hoshi. Don't worry. It goes without saying that we wouldn't wish this on anyone, let alone each other._

"Good, well, what I mean is that I want to know you, Malcolm. I want to really know you. I'm learned so many things but I still think you're hiding from me. You don't have to pretend anything. I got the clues when trying to find your favorite food for your birthday our first year out. Your parents, your sister, your aunts, your friend from the academy, none of them knew. You hide so much from all of us. I gotta think there's a reason. A hurt that never healed. And I know your parents never send you any letters so I have to think it's there." 

Malcolm wasn't sure what to think. She was right, of course. He had been trying to find only nice stories from his past. A hurt that hadn't healed. Dead on. One that was still so raw that he seldom mentioned it to anyone. Ever. But of course, he'd always kept everyone at a distance so it wasn't hard. He had been doing better with _Enterprise_ , getting closer to members of the crew, like Trip. But it was an ingrained part of him for nearly twenty years. Changing was slow and if he was honest with himself, he was ashamed and fearful of others' reactions if they should see those parts of him that weren't so nice. The hurt little boy who never healed. 

But Hoshi was different now. He didn't care about fraternizing anymore. It didn't matter that he was her superior officer. She was, as she had put it, all he had and he loved her. At least, he thought he did and it sounded like she might be feeling the same way about him. They could be like this they're whole lives, together only in their minds. Could he really hide it all from her, and did he really want to? 

He really had always wanted to tell someone what had happened and what had happened since that changed everything about his life. As a child, he had wanted to tell his mother and have her comfort him. He had wanted to tell his father and have him get justice for it. 

_Someone nearly killed me,_ he told her even before he had decided to do so. _It changed my whole life and I don't know how to fix it, how to change back to who I would have been._

"Oh Malcolm," she said, so softly and sweetly that he could imagine her touching his cheek. "You don't have to be someone else. I love you for who you are. Just let me know who you are." 

Malcolm closed his eyes and thought his heart would explode in his chest. She said she loved him! 

"I'm very glad," she continued, "that you have those happy memories and I hope there are more. With those clues I could have put together an abusive, horrible childhood. I'd have loved you anyway. But it's not as bad as that. You have nothing to fear from me. I still love you." 

She deserved a response, though it was incredible to him that she'd said that again without one. _I love you, Hoshi. I think I do anyway. I've never felt this before, so it's hard to be sure._

"We've got a lot of time to figure it out," she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Lunch is over. You don't have to let it all out right now. We've got time for that, too." 

_I'll try,_ he said, honestly. Whether he'd succeed was still in question. He tried to keep those parts of himself fully locked up. But she was opening places in him he didn't know he had. Here in this hell they'd both crashed into, he felt the happiest he'd ever felt. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque  
with contributing author Exploded Pen

**Chapter Eighteen**

Dr. Kaife had said it could take months, or even years, to recreate the communications device. Still, it bothered Major Zhenah when he gave it thought. The aliens hadn't used it and yet they hadn't destroyed it in the explosion. The analysis of the crash had confirmed his theory of it. The two aliens had survived and they blew up the space ship with a third alien inside. The DNA from the bone chip did not match either of the two surviving aliens. 

They obviously destroyed the ship to keep its technology from them. But why leave the communications device intact? It was more advanced than anything on Sharu. It alone could spark a technological revolution, if Zheiren ever decided to make it public. 

So why not destroy it? To call for help or reinforcements. They had to have sent at least one message between surviving the crash and burying the device. And that was why he had traveled to Korthitra, the capital of Soana Province to the Audiotronics Institute. The Wingeds there studied anything that made sound. They had records dating back to seventy years of radio waves, transmission, seismic activity. Maybe they could have detected that one call--or others--made by the aliens. 

Dr. Suro, the director of the facility met him at the door. "Major, so good to see you!" 

Zhenah hated false pleasantries. He'd never met this man before and he didn't keep friends with Wingeds. "Have you found anything abnormal?" he asked, getting right to the point. 

Suro's head bobbed. "Indeed we have." He led Zhenah to a laboratory on the third floor and motioned for another Winged to join them in the office in the back. 

"This is Dr. Benras. He found a low frequency radio pulse during the time frame you gave in the vicinity of Rihansu. Doctor?" 

Zhenah looked to Benras as he flipped open a folder. "We found several instances of a pulse pattern. That's what struck us as odd. We might have taken this for simple, naturally occurring sounds, except for the pattern." 

"What pattern?" Zhenah asked, intrigued by the idea of a pattern. Perhaps that linguist back at Kenisitai would finally have something to do. 

"Three short pulses followed by three longer pulses and completed with three short pulses again. And they occurred at fairly regular intervals. It would appear that there was someone in Rihansu transmitting a coded message." 

Suro spoke again. "If you'd like, we could send the data to Zheira. The cryptologists there could perhaps make something of it." 

How? Zhenah wondered. They wouldn't know the language behind it. Buftanis had used that method back in the war fifty years ago. They used a tribe of Karatans and their rare, dying language to pass messages Zheiren was unable to decode. By now, Zheiren had that solved. There wasn't a single Karatan tribe left without an operative embedded to learn their language. They didn't, however, have any operatives wherever the aliens came from. "No, thank you," he said, holding out a hand for the folder of notes. "We have a linguist looking into it back in Kenisitai. He has clearance. No one else does. I'll want all recordings of this sealed and sent to Kenisitai as well. Understood?" 

Dr. Suro dipped his head. "Of course, Major. Dr. Benras, please prepare the recordings." 

Benras handed Zhenah the folder and left the office. 

"If you'll give me the linguist's name," Suro was saying, "I'll be sure everything is sent to him." 

Zhenah headed for the door. "Send it to me. I'll make sure he gets it." 

* * *

"I'm not sure I can keep this up," Malcolm's voice sounded tired, which meant his thoughts were tried, weaker. "I remember survival training. Ten percent of fluid loss can be fatal. This time they may not be able to keep me going." 

Hoshi didn't like the sound of that. But it was nearly three days since they had stopped giving him water. Smeagol's secret offerings had probably let Malcolm go a little longer than he might have but it wouldn't be enough. _What are your symptoms?_

There wasn't an answer for a few minutes and she began to worry. _Malcolm?_

"Hoshi?" Hoshi sighed in relief. "I'm sorry. It's hard to keep focused. My head hurts so much and I'm so tired I can't even stand." 

_Say the word, Malcolm,_ she told him. _One word won't get them very far and it's not worth your life. I couldn't do this without you._

The doors opened and Hoshi wished for another _sifami._ She could use a day off. Though she knew she'd get more than one in a week or two. She didn't want any in the lab. She'd be happy with just one here in the barracks. 

But the bugs wouldn't take a day off, so she knew she and the girls would be working. _Malcolm, did you hear me?_

"I tried," he replied. "My voice won't work." 

_You have to try, Malcolm._ She meant it. She couldn't do this if he wasn't there. She couldn't face a lifetime of slavery and experimentation alone. She needed him. She loved him. 

* * *

Malcolm couldn't find enough moisture to swallow, let alone talk. The orcs hadn't thought this through properly. The incessant beeping of his bracelet pounded in his head, driving the pain higher. Hoshi was right. He had to stop this. He couldn't die and leave her here alone. 

He gathered up all his energy and leaned toward the foot of the bed he'd been sitting under. His arms weren't reliable when he placed his hands on the floor. They tingled and wobbled unsteadily. His legs didn't want to hold him either, but he kept them moving and crawled toward the camera. He didn't make it and collapsed in a heap just after he'd cleared the bed. He tried to get back up but it was not use. He'd have to try it from where he was. 

He took a deep breath and tried to make his vocal cords work. All he got was a whisper that sounded more like a cough. He tried again and his whisper sounded a little more like the word "water." He was nearly panting and couldn't catch his breath for another try. He couldn't even scoot back under the bed to escape the bright red light of the heat lamps. Thankfully, someone suddenly turned those off. 

The door burst open and Malcolm's gaze was fixed on the water bottles carried by Saruman. Smeagol was with him as well as another scientist, but Malcolm couldn't remember if he'd named that one. They sat him up and pushed a bottle to his lips. He gulped down the water. When he was done with the first bottle, they lifted him up and deposited him on the bed. The sheets smelled fresh though he hadn't noticed anyone changing them. They checked him over fully while Smeagol washed his legs and arms with a cool, wet cloth. His dirty tunic was lifted off of his shoulders and a clean one was placed over his head. He could barely lift his arms to get them in the holes that served to make sleeves of it. Then they gave him the second bottle, though this one tasted more like a sports drink than water. He drank it quickly and laid down. _This one's over, Hoshi. Or should I say 'Frodo' in case I accidentally say something out loud again?_

"Frodo's fine. Feeling better?" 

_Clean and sated, though still a bit woozy. For once, I'm happy to see these guys. They're even putting in an IV. Must be worse than I thought._

"Madeline told me about the time you went on bread and water for days. You think those kinds of survival experiments you did helped your stamina for this?" 

_Perhaps. Did I ever tell you about my great great great great uncle on my mother's side?_ He paused to think that through. Did he have enough greats? 

Hoshi laughed. "Until these last few months you'd hardly told me me anything. Who was he? A Naval officer?" 

Malcolm nearly smiled externally. He still felt weak but he was happy suddenly. _My mother's side,_ he reminded her. _Actually, he was in the British special forces. Until he retired and had a reality show on television._

"You're great uncle was a reality TV star?" 

_Four greats,_ he corrected, _and yes. His name was Bear Grylls. The show was about surviving in the wild. He'd be prepped by experts and then taken to inhospitable locales with a film crew. He'd show the audience how to survive and find their way out. He'd eat spiders or lizards or anything edible and jump into frozen lakes just to show you the right way to get out and not die. He'd even drink his own urine when he had to. He'd probably be disappointed I didn't go that far._

"Well, he didn't have Smeagol sneaking him water. Was his name really 'Bear?'" 

Malcolm chuckled very slightly. _Yeah, maybe Mum's side of the family were hippies once. Hoshi--Frodo, I think I'm going to nap for a bit._

"Go ahead, Sam. You need it. I'll still be here when you wake up." 

* * *

In fact, he napped for two days and Hoshi missed him in that time. She tried not to worry and take it as a sign of the worst, that he was dead. She didn't want to be alone here, and she didn't want Malcolm Reed erased from existence. She wanted him in her life whether here, separated by continents, or sitting across the Bridge from each other or rocking in the porch swing on her sister's porch in Seattle. She conceded she _might_ be able to live without him in those other settings. But not here. There was nothing for her here without him. Only misery and fear. 

She distracted herself with Pipa, trying to see if she could teach her one native friend how to count or do simple math. Pipa would repeat numbers after her but could not say them on her own. 

They came for her just after lunch on the second day. _Malcolm?_ she tried, as they dragged her toward the laboratory building. She didn't fight them. They could easily just pick her up and carry her. Or stun her. She looked back to where Pipa was and noted a dark line on the horizon just above the waist-high crops. It might mean rain. She hoped so. It would save Pipa and the others some work. 

The orcs carted her through the door and up the stairs and down the hall. They zapped her just on the other side of the door and she went limp. 

"Hoshi?" 

_You have impeccable timing, Lieutenant._ She was so relieved she might have let out a sigh if she wasn't completely immobile and limp as a wet noodle. _I've just been deposited in the lab._

"Oh, I guess I shall have to tell you a story then." 

_Give me a funny one. I've missed you so much I might tear up. Then what would the wizards think?_

"I think I'm all out of funny ones." 

_Surely not._ She really hoped he'd find one. Or maybe she had to help him. _Well, tell me about Madeline. I always wanted to grow up with a younger brother or sister._

"No, you don't," he replied too quickly. 

She would have smiled. _Oh?_

"More trouble than they're worth." 

_I seriously doubt that. I was one, remember?_ But he did have her intrigued and thoroughly distracted so she played along. _What about sibling love? A lifetime friend?_

Malcolm snorted. "All lies, probably created by those without siblings, or worse, those who _are_ younger sisters. They are the root of all suffering, the spawn of all evil--present company excepted--and the master of the 'why' argument." 

Hoshi laughed. Well, only in a way he could hear or imagine. Her face never moved. 

"My sister is a prime example." 

_How exactly? I've spoken to her. She seemed lovely._

* * *

_She's not_ your _younger sister._ He stalled for a moment, struggling to find a memory to prove his point. He never could tell jokes, so funny stories were not his forte. Stories were not his forte. But he'd managed up to now with near-forgotten memories. Hoshi needed a distraction. Sounding like a moron was a relatively small price to pay to provide it. 

And that thought brought a nice little memory to the fore. _And here's a prime example of just how irritating my sister is . . . was . . . ._ he took a deep breath, pulling the memory from its hiding place in the recesses of his brain. 

_One day--and really this happened more than once, but just for the sake of the example--one day, I was sitting at the computer, minding my own business when I suddenly sprouted a new head right on my left shoulder. 'Malcolm,' she said, and then nothing._

_Until I finally gave in with a sigh and asked, 'What?'_

_'What are you doing?'_ he asked mimicking her voice perfectly in his thoughts. In fact, it wasn't his voice at all. 

_'Medical experimentation,' I said, hoping by my tone she'd go away. Of course, I had no ideas of our present predicament. I was fifteen._

"Excused," Hoshi said. "And you did her voice well." 

_Well, it is a memory. She didn't go away. She leaned in closer, pushing me forward in the chair until she could see the screen better. 'Medical experiments? Mum'll go mad if you get blood on the computer.' Which, of course, was preposterous._

_I tried not to stare at her like she was a complete moron, difficult though it was. I'd gotten it for that once before. 'Maddie,' I had to tell her, 'I was being sarcastic.'_

_She'd get all indignant and ask the most infuriating question ever invented: 'Why?'_

_I said, 'Because you're asking stupid questions.' I was really getting angry. She knew all the right buttons to push with me. I figured it had to be some sort of scheme, or union: 'Sisters Against Older Brothers."_

_Then Maddie shoved her hands onto her hips. I swear, if she'd been twenty-five years older at the time, with some sort of cleaning supply in her hands, she'd have been the spitting image of our mother. And she said what all younger sister of older brothers say: 'I am not!'_

_And, like any older brother, I'd have to respond: 'You are, too!'_

_'I'm so not!' she said. But I managed not to fall for it a second time. 'Good Lord, I'm not getting into an argument with you.' I was much too mature for that kind of babyish debate._

_Sadly, she wasn't: 'Why?'_

He could hear her choke on a bit of laugher, and he struggled to keep his own smile purely mental. He wouldn't move his face physically to give the orcs any clue what was happening. 

_'Because,' I said. I left it at that and turned back to the computer in another attempt to ignore her. It didn't work._

_'That's not an answer.'_

_I replied through clenched teeth, 'It is now.' To which she said--_

"Why?" Hoshi supplied. 

_Exactly! I clenched my teeth again, and probably my fists. 'I swear to God--' but she cut me off._

_You're not allowed to swear! Mum said so,_ Malcolm mimicked, being sure to get the sing-song voice Maddie loved to use in those situations. 

I told her I wasn't swearing. It was a figure of speech. But she called me a liar and it went on like that for another hour until I finally stormed out. Only when I returned, I found Maddie still there, playing games on the computer.1

Now she let out a good laugh. "Oh, it does sound like you had a terrible time of it." 

Then he sighed, thinking of his pestering little sister, who even at twelve could know when he needed distracting. He missed her. _Actually, I was closer to Maddie than anyone else. Especially after--well, I wasn't Daddy's little sailor any more, if you get my meaning. More like Faramir with Denethor--before the burning pyre, I mean._

"'Do not throw your life away rashly or in bitterness,'" She recited. "'You will be needed here, and for other things than war. Your father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it ere the end.'"2

_That was Gandalf,_ he corrected. _Not Denethor. And I was more thinking of 'But if I should return, think better of me!' and 'That depends on the manner of your return.'_ 3

"That was when Faramir's heart finally broke," she said, matching the sadness of the book at that part. "When was yours, Malcolm?" 

* * *

And he told her. He told her about Victor Renslow and the three bullies trying to force a younter boy to eat a worm behind the gardener's cottage at Evington Academy. He told how he fought his own fear to face them, swinging a rake to make them get off the younger boy. Then he told how they threw a rock and hit him in the head and them pummeled him until he couldn't tell up from down or fathom why they were dragging him or where. It was the water that clarified it. They held him under the water of a fountain until his lungs burned and the water tricked him. It made him think it was the air he held that was suffocating him. So he let it out to breathe again. And he drowned. 

A passing teacher rescued and revived him, but Malcolm was never the same. His tie to this father's acceptance was severed. He could never be a sailor again. 

By the time he finished his story, Hoshi was deposited back into her little room off the lab. A few minutes later, she could move and she felt the wet tears around her eyes. That day, April 11, 2056, was the day Malcolm became a stranger to his own family and an enigma to everyone else. It marked the deepest part of Malcolm's heart and she hurt for him. And she loved him for letting her know it.4

* * *

"Kenu's finally not bored all day," Baezhu told his friend at breakfast. "And it means the aliens must have had a communications device in the desert. Now, I'm guessing it's somewhere in the lab." 

"I might know where," Kahrae replied. "Eshna and Daeron have shifts at the northwest wing. Major Zhenah has it secured. Only he and a Dr. Kaife have access." 

"Kaife?" Baezhu asked. "I don't know a Kaife there." 

"Exactly. I'll bet he has the device. I wonder what it looks like. I've never seen alien technology." 

"It may not do much," Baezhu admitted. "All Kenu got was a pattern of pulses. Short short short, long long long, short short short. Some sort of code." 

"That ought to keep Dr. Kenu busy," Kahrae said, laughing. "He's a linguist right, not a cryptographer." 

Baezhu so wanted to really share his thoughts with his friend. But, depending how far he went with this, Baezhu was not going to implicate Kahrae in what he was doing. What he was risking. 

Baezhu remembered the tapping the aliens did when they were in separate rooms. They were using that same code, though not the same pattern. They were communicating to each other all along. And if Kenu or any of the others figured that out, they might get a step closer to communicating with the alien. And that would not be good for the alien. 

"Dr. Burha said he'll have the quotas out in a couple weeks," he said, changing the subject back to something less dangerous. 

That perked Kahrae up. "Really? Any way you could get a peak, just see if I'm on the list?" 

Baezhu laughed and downed the last of his water. "I don't have to look. You're a Cold Raptor, Kahrae. I'm telling you, you'd have to do something egregious to be taken off the list." 

* * *

"I used to fantasize blowing up the school with those three in it," Malcolm admitted. 

_I thought it was the NI3,_ Hoshi replied She was still in the lab and she figured she'd be there through her period. 

"That was the 'how,'" he said. "Not the 'why.'" 

_Well, did you ever see a counselor about this? You were a kid who went through a traumatizing attack. You needed counseling._

"My father didn't see it that way." His voice was quieter now, sadder. "Except for my parents, I've never told anybody, until now." 

_In that case,"_ she thought to him, _I'm impressed. You had every right to be become a psychopathic terrorist bomber._

He smiled. She could tell somehow. "Well, I still fantasize about blowing things up--the laboratory, for example.--but I try to channel it into productive endeavors." 

_Exactly._ There was more. _But I'm sure you didn't wake up the next day deciding to be a productive citizen and explosives expert._

"No, I plotted my revenge. I got some not-so-bright older students--big, brutish types--to like me by doing their homework for them. And two years to the day of my drowning, I got it. I had my boys take the leader of those bullies for a joyride to the pier. I was there waiting and they beat him for me." 

Hoshi gasped. She tried to equate what she was hearing to the Malcolm Reed she knew and loved, but it didn't add up. 

"I even joined in," he added, "and got a few licks in. Then, when he was a bloody mess who couldn't even hold his head up, I told them to toss him over the pier. He pleaded with me then. He said he couldn't swim. And I told him, 'Neither can I, not anymore.' And I'll tell you, Hoshi, I reveled in it." His tone hadn't changed. Still quiet, still somewhat sad. "I made him beg me! I had that power. Then I saw my reflection in his tear-filled eyes. I'd become him. And right there, I changed." 

Hoshi smiled now. Into the one man on _Enterprise_ who would stand up to the captain when he tortured a prisoner for information about the Xindi. _What did you do with the bully?_

"I told my bullies to take him to the hospital. I decided to join Starfleet that night. Space just seemed so far away from where I was, and I didn't want to be there anymore."5

_Malcolm, why didn't your parents press charges? You know who attacked you. And why didn't your father want you to get help?_ Her door opened and food and water were set inside by one of the orcs. She waited until the door closed before she went to the food. 

"I don't know. I was very scared and confused at the time. He didn't discuss charges with me. As for help, I'm a Reed and Reed men don't let circumstances get the better of them. They pick themselves up and get going again." 

She'd heard Stuart Reed's voice there at the end. _Like your uncle on the_ Essex? _What about your mother?_

"My mother does what Father says when Father's home. And he was home then and only too happy to bring up the _Essex_ when I tried to tell him why I couldn't get in the boat anymore." 

Hoshi knew this was the heart of who Malcolm was. His drowning, his revenge, his redemption. And his father's disapproval. She meant it when she said she was impressed. He had managed to grow into a confident and competent man and officer inspite of receiving no counseling after the attack and no support from his family, pretty much ever since. But it also made her sad for him. She wanted to hug that young boy who had been drowned and tell him that everything would be okay. _He was wrong, Malcolm,_ she said instead. _About all of it. You came out remarkably well but you needed counseling, and it's even more understandable that you're aquaphobic since you didn't get any. And it doesn't make you any less of a man because you can't be in the navy. You are a good man and a Starfleet officer with a distinguished career. And if he can't see that, then he's the one with the problem._

"I know," Malcolm said sadly. "But he's still my father and I want him to be proud of me. I want to be Boromir, but I'm stuck with Faramir." 

_Faramir was the better man of the two, Malcolm._

"Someone's coming," he said, changing the subject. "It's Smeagol." 

* * *

Major Zhenah opened the door to Dr. Kaife's lab. Thus far, few knew of this lab or what was going on in it. The guards at the door made sure of that. Dr. Kaife was at his table with the device tapping it slowly in the pattern they'd found at Korthitra. "What do you make of it?" he asked. "It's been a week." 

Kaife gave a short laugh. "A week without any frame of reference. You don't need a scientist, Major. You need a miracle worker." 

Zhenah sat down and sighed. "I wish I had one. The aliens have been here half a year and we still can't say why they've come or ask them the simplest question. What do they call their kind? What do they call themselves? If we can't even ask that, how are we supposed to learn anything?" 

"Science can take time, Major," Kaife said. He stopped tapping and set the device down. "You just have to be patient. And let the little breakthroughs help you stay positive until the big ones come." 

Zhenah looked up. "You have a little one?" 

"Yes." He held up the device. "I know how they did it and I know it's not the default method of communication for this device." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because I could only recreate the pattern by interrupting the carrier wave. The carrier wave exists when I turn the device on. The tapping," he said as he demonstrated it, "interrupts it." 

Zhenah stood up. "But if you replicated the pattern, you had to hear it. You've found a way to receive the signal from this device!" 

"That one's too big," Kaife replied, waving his hand that Zhenah should sit again. "I have a smaller breakthrough. I can detect the signal. It's more a matter of seeing it than hearing it." He got up and went to one of the computers on the bench behind him. He pointed to a monitor display of a simple line. Then he turned the device on. The line became wavy. He tapped in the pattern and the line straightened with each pulse. "I can only say the signal is there. I can't say what it carries." 

* * *

Enesh pulled up the camera's view of the female's womb and was happy to see both blastocysts still intact. "I'd have been satisfied if one survived," Besta said, coming up beside him to look. "But two is even better. The previous one was gone by this time. These two are doing nicely thus far." 

Enesh looked more closely, estimating the distance between the two blastocysts. "Do we have any guesses about the size of the offspring when it's born? Can her womb hold two embryos successfully?" 

"Well," Besta replied. "What do our most similar mammals do when they are pregnant? Do their bellies distend to provide room for the fetus? Is it born large or small?" 

Enesh thought about that. The ekanon, as he knew it in Zheiren, gave birth to infants much smaller than the adult size would have one think. An adult could stand nearly three meters high while a newborn was barely ten centimeters. If the female was similar, the blastocysts would have plenty of room to develop into embryos that would produce male aliens genetically identical to the one he'd had to leave behind. But there was a lot of differences between ekanon and these aliens. "It depends how similar they are. We don't know this one's gestation period or the growth rate of the embryos yet. She's only similar in a few characteristics. She's a whole new species." 

* * *

1Story contributed by Exploded Pen as "Sibling Joy" and adapted by me to fit this story.  
2Quote from *The Lord of the Rings** by J.R.R. Tolkien, Houghton Miffline Company, 1994, p 799  
3Same, p. 798  
4As told much better in the novel _Last Full Measure_ by Michael A Martin and Andy Mangels, Pocket Books, 2006, New York, pages 145-150.  
5Same, pages 150-154. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Nineteen**

Hoshi's period hadn't come. She was back at work anyway. But now, when she woke up in the morning, there was a bucket beside her. She got sick and the bucket was the receptical for it. She felt downright awful until a couple of hours had passed. It had started in the lab. At first, the orcs had fussed over her, taking blood samples and checking her temperature. But they didn't give her anyting for it and sent her back to the fields. Hoshi knew there was a clue there but she didn't want to face it. Denial was the better option at this point. It kept her reasonably sane. 

Malcolm was having a difficult time again, though they both had figured this one was coming. They'd tested his heat tolerance, so cold would have to come next. Though the cold did come more gradually. The temperature dropped steadily throughout the week and didn't become intolerable until the day before. 

As with the heat, they'd first tested just how cold he could stand it. Then they fixed the temperature at something less drastric than that to test his tolerance. So it was cold, but not nearly as dangerous as it had been. And this time, the orcs threw in an added twist once he showed the first signs of frostbite on his ears. 

"This one could be mathematical," he said. "But it's hard to tell when I don't know their numbers or symbols." 

The orcs had given him puzzle boxes. Each box held something to protect a part of him from the cold. The first had been relatively simple and it had produced a crude stocking cap. The second had mittens without thumbs. He had to take them off to work on the puzzles, though. 

_What's in that one?_ she asked. They'd both decided these little test of his intelligence were worth doing to keep him from losing any appendages in this experiment. 

"Looks like the mittens, but larger. I'm hoping their for my feet." Hoshi could hear his teeth chattering. Not through Audio I. His thoughts were steady, if a bit hurried. But she could now almost hear through his ears--Audio II. The teeth, though, made it easier because he also would hear the chatter from inside his head which amplified the sound. 

"There is an upside to the cold," he told her. "The orcs haven't come in. Cold-blooded, like our reptiles." 

Hoshi gave that somet thought. _The girls do seem stiffer in the mornings here._

"Got it!" 

_How?_ Hoshi sat back on her heels to rest her back. The weeding was harder now that it was summer. The sweat got in her eyes and burned, and the weeds pricked at her fingers if she didn't grip them just right. They entwined their roots on the plant's roots to resist the picking. Fortunately for the plant, it was sturdy enough to survive a broken root or the reburial of one that was pulled out with the weed. The weeds also grew fast and wrapped themselves around the plant's stem, climing two feet up in one day. And that meant the work got harder as the day went by. The weeds pulled in the morning were short and not so well established. The fields she got to at the end of the day had waist-high weeds. Hoshi was assigned fourteen long rows to keep weed-free. Pipa had twenty in front of her. Hoshi saw less of her until evening. 

"The answer is three digits or characters long, so I just tried every combination until it opened. Which is good because my toes are completely numb and starting to turn blue. These aren't the most stylish socks but I'll take them." 

* * *

"He has to be smart," Kahrae said, putting down the paper Baezhu had given him. "If he could figure that out. I can't, and I know the language." 

"Given enough time," Baezhu replied, "I'm sure you'd be able to figure it out. He has hours until the cold drives him to do it quickly. He resisted at first, but then his ears showed the first signs of frost-bite." 

"You said his skin was soft," Kahrae said. He handed the paper back to his friend. "So how does he stand the cold better than most of us?" 

Baezhu chuckled. "How do you stand it when I'd freeze up? It's not so much about the skin, though with yours, you'd probably survive longer. It's about the blood. You and he regulate temperature internally. Where as we non-Cold Raptors do not. So the extremities and areas with less blood flow--like his ears-- are the first to deteriorate." That thought made him grow serious. "I just hope Dr. Bishtae knows when to call this off. It may not be easy to recognize when he's actually freezing to death." 

"His core body temperature will drop," Kahrae said, surprising Baezhu. "We learn that in survival training. There are limits to the cold, even for us." 

* * *

Malcolm Reed huddled on top of the bed with the edges of his make-shift tunic tucked beneath him. His arms were tucked inside it, close to his body. It wasn't enough. He was still very cold. The puzzle boxes had things to help protect him from permanent damage. He recognized that. The had protected his ears, the socks his toes, and finally mittens with no thumbs for his fingers. His face was on its own. 

He blew out a visible breath of steam and tried to relax. Only when he was totally relaxed could he stop shaking. But he couldn't stay relaxed for more than a few seconds anyway. 

What would his great great great great uncle say? Keep moving, for one thing. Keep the blood flowing. But Malcolm could argue that one. He didn't have to survive. The orcs would see to that. All he had to do was withstand the torment until they were satisfied that they knew his limits. Keeping the blood flowing would only prolong that. He hoped, rather, to shorten it. 

Hoshi tried to help, telling him how hot it was in the fields. It was so humid the air felt heavy and stuck to her skin. It was even difficult to breathe, or it seemed so, and the sweat poured off her forehead into her eyes. She told him of visiting her grandmother's garden in the summer as a child and how she and her sisters would walk with their grandmother while she told them all the names of the flowers and the legends and history of each one. 

That's when he created two new controls on the visualized console. He wanted to see her memories and feel the heat. Video I and Tactile. He wanted to be careful with that last one. He never wanted it to be accidentally triggered if they took him back to surgery or did some other agonizing experiment. He didn't want Hoshi to ever feel that again. 

But it was a long way from that. He was too cold, and his thoughts were getting lethargic. He hoped that meant it wouldn't be much longer. He'd heard that freezing to death was a peaceful way to go. He didn't believe it. It might eventually turn peaceful but getting to the freezing point was miserable and even painful--at least until whatever body part became numb. 

* * *

Dr. Bishtae didn't like that Major Zhenah was watching over them. Baezhu could tell by the doctor's stiff posture and his clenched jaw. 

Dr. Burha finished checking the alien's vitals. "His core temperature has begun to drop. It has decreased three degrees in the last hour." 

"Has he spoken again?" the major asked. 

"No," Dr. Bishtae replied quickly. "But he has given us clues to his intelligence by opening the puzzle boxes." 

Zhenah sighed. "Then make it colder." 

"That would not be wise," Bistae argued. Baezhu was glad. 

"It would be useful," Zhenah argued back. "You scientists have had him for nearly eight months. You've come up with very little that's useful thus far." 

"Hardly, Major," Dr. Buhra stepped in. "We've learned his heat tolerance, which chemicals are caustic and now his cold tolerance. All of which can be of use to a resourceful military should any more of them arrive." 

"Certainly you have Wingeds who can develop chemical weapons to be used against them." Dr. Bishtae turned toward the Major now. "Or has the military finally given up the irrational fear of an invasion by alien forces?" 

Zhenah didn't answer. "How long can his core temperature drop before he dies?" 

"We don't know," Dr. Bishtae replied, "and we won't be finding out. We can't bring him back from that. Or do you not remember the Shirkatitsan pseudo-scientific experiments of the last World War? Once it goes down more than a few degrees, it's very difficult to raise again without killing the the subject." 

"Those were reptiles, cold-blooded," Zhenah held, displaying an rather impressive knowledge of history for a Raptor. "This alien is warm-blooded. Perhaps it will be easier." 

Dr. Burha nodded. "Perhaps. But if not, we risk the expiration of the one alien we have in our possession. The risk is too great. We need to warm him now." 

Baezhu could see the Raptor square his shoulders for more arguing. An idea had been forming in him for a few days, and he let it out now, hoping to disarm any further argument--and risk to the alien. "We could test a piece of alien equipment." 

Four heads turned to face him. "And you are?" Major Zhenah asked, clearly perturbed that a Lesser Winged would interupt a discussion between him and the senior scientists here. 

Dr. Bishtae defended him. "Baezhu was the one to discover the traitor's tampering, Major." 

That seemed to mollify the Raptor, as his posture softened and his glare let up. "What piece of equipment?" 

Baezhu swallowed. "I read they were found with a metallic blanket. It could have reflected the sun by day in the desert, but perhaps have kept them warm at night." 

One of Dr. Bishtae's eye ridges raised. "That is a delightful idea. We'd learn more about their technology and how the technology affects their environmental tolerance." 

Major Zhenah just said, "Hmph," and turned back to the video monitor of the huddling alien. 

Dr. Burha stood. "I'll go and fetch it." 

* * *

Enesh checked the camera and was thrilled to see both blastocysts still viable and growing into little embryos. It was early yet and things could still go wrong, but it was progress at least. The report from the overseer noted the female got sick every morning but was fine by lunch. She was still able to perform her duties. His last blood sample, though, taken at night, revealed some nutritional deficiencies they would need to correct. It brought up a thorny issue though. What did the alien need for an optimal pregnancy? Did she need extra food or vitamins? Were her hormone levels within average range for early pregancy? They simply had no baseline to measure against. Primates or shehra got what they needed from the environment. This alien got what they fed her, what they had determined she would eat. Was it enough? 

* * *

Malcolm poked his head up when he heard the door open and something soft drop to the floor. It was a large silvery cloth of some sort. Then it hit him. He recognized it. From the desert, from the shuttlepod, from _Enterprise_. He uncoiled himself and raced across the small room, slipping a bit on the tile floor in his knit socks. This changed everything and he was willing to let them learn whatever they wanted out of giving him the all-weather blanket. 

He slid back to the bed and sat. He turned and pulled his legs up. He started at his legs, tucking the blanket around and under the calves and then back up between and onto his shins. He tucked the lip of the blanket there around his feet. Then he worked his way up, rocking from one side to the other as he tucked the the blanket beneath himself, cutting off all access to air at his thighs, his hips, his back and chest. He let the top of the blanket rest on his chest then used his right arm to reach under his left and pull the corner of the blanket back until it was tucked securely under his left arm. He did the same with his right arm and then laid his arms to his side. The blanket tightened across his chest. 

He shivered but closed his eyes, knowing that the blanket would reflect his own body heat back on himself. He would be warm soon enough. 

* * *

Hoshi had fogotten about that blanket. It had been so long ago. Zheiren had their uniforms, too, their boots. She missed the boots. It was one thing to lounge around a lab barefoot but now she had to walk in dirt and mud as she worked. She felt filthy. And with the uniforms as patterns, why couldn't they make some better-fitting clothing? 

"Maybe they can't sew themselves," Malcolm reasoned. "They can't exactly send out an order to the local textile factory without letting their secret out." 

_Good point,_ Hoshi replied. _Then why not just give us back the uniforms?_

"They probably have cut them up to study the buttons, zippers, fabrics, and patches. We are their first aliens. They're studying everything they can about us. Think about it though," he said, sounding much calmer--much warmer--than before. "They have our names. But we confused them. They must think S-A-T-O spells 'Frodo' now. That's good. If they try to figure out 'ENTERPRISE' or 'EARTH', they can't get anywhere near the real words." 

That was clever. If he ever gave them 'Sam,' they'd think it was spelled REED. It gave her an idea. _We can do more than that._

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

_They may eventually make one of us talk. More likely you. So what if you told them something in three languages?_

He laughed. "I see. And what if I told them a lie in three languages?" 

_They'd spend the next three centuries trying to parse it out,_ she replied, _and still end up with a lie. What lie do we tell?_

"And how do I manage the languages?" He sounded just a bit skeptical. 

_If they drugged you or--heaven forbid--tortured you, who would you listen to more? My voice or theirs?_

"Yours. Yours is familiar, even if I don't understand." 

_Exactly, so I just tell the lie and you repeat what I say. Maybe we can even strengthen the console so I can push words through, influence you more if need be._

"We'll have to practice the next time they withhold water or food or whatever," he suggested. "You can try to make me say a word I've never heard." 

_I'm glad they didn't make you say 'blanket.' I was worried about you._

"They won't let me die, Hoshi." 

_Not on purpose. But you could have lost fingers or toes. I wouldn't want that either. So, what will the big lie be?_

"We keep the same story we've been playing with all along, Frodo." 

Hoshi had to hide her smile behind her hair. _Perfect, Samwise Gamgee. Maybe we should spend some of our time refreshing the story in our minds._

* * *

It didn't take long, cocooned as he was in that blanket, for his own body's warmth to reflect back on himself. Malcolm stopped shivering and closed his eyes, re-imagining the book and movies, melding them for consistancy with Hoshi. It took hours and kept her mind completely off her physical state while she went about her menial duties. 

Somewhere during _The Two Towers_ , she'd finished for the day, and feeling quite toasty and drowsy himself, Malcolm had fallen asleep. He awoke with a start when the cool air hit him. Cool, not cold. When he opened his eyes, expecting to see his lab cell, he saw instead the wide-open space of Sickbay on _Enterprise_. And Trip. 

"Get away from me," he growled. 

"Glad to see you're feelin' better, Lieutenant," Trip replied, leaning over the bed. "Phlox said your injuries were minor." 

"Minor my ass!" Malcolm shot back. He sat up. "I'm not going through this with you again." 

"What with me again?" Trip really did seem perplexed. 

Malcolm looked around. "Let me guess. I'm not on Degra's ship, so the Xindi weapon is destroyed. But you're still not coming to get us." 

"The captain and T'Pol are missing down on Vulcan with the Vulcan government tryin' to kill 'em. I really can't just order the ship off right now." 

"Of course not," Malcolm sneered. "Because you're not there yet, right?" He stood. "Well, bugger off! I don't need you anymore. Not unless you're ready to rescue us. I've got Hoshi now." 

Trip's eyebrows drew down. "She's with you?" 

Malcolm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sickbay did not fade and Trip was still standing there. "No, she's on the other side of the bloody planet, but I'd rather spend time with her in my head than with you. You're nothing but a figment!" 

"Now that's not fair, Lieutenant, and you're tone is bordering on insubordination." 

Malcolm was incredulous. "Insubordination? Well, have me court-martialed then! You'd have to come get me first. I'm sure Hoshi would be happy to kick your ass with that black belt of hers so you could bring her up on charges of assaulting a superior officer. Anything to get us out of the hell we're in. But seeing as you're not real, and this isn't real, I don't think there will be any charges. Because there weren't. This is the past, Trip. Some surreal version of it anyway. I don't know why I keep coming here and I don't care anymore. This is of no use to me. Just send me back!" 

"To the hell you're in?" Trip's demeanor had changed completely. Malcolm almost took him for a friend again. 

"Unless you can get me out for real, Trip, yes, back to the hell I'm stuck in. Hoshi's there, too and I don't like leaving her. I certainly don't like being reminded of what we can't have." Malcolm went back to the biobed, lay down and pulled a blanket over him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the various electronics sounds of Sickbay. He heard Trip talking with the doctor, discussing how irrational he was, but he didn't care. This wasn't real. Hoshi was real and he wanted to be where she was, hell or not. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty**

Hoshi tried to keep from crying. The overseers wouldn't know what to do with that and the other females, well, she didn't know what they would do. At first, she'd tried having Malcolm talk to her, but he just couldn't. It was all he could do to not scream in her mind. He'd turned the dial on his mental console. One-way communication. From her to him. 

So she talked, hoping he could still listen, hoping her voice was something of a comfort for him. She told him happy stories, of gathering around the tables at family reunions with everyone laughing and talking all at once about what had gone on in the last year. She told him the best, funniest stories from various years. Like the time her sister and brother-in-law travelled to Prague in the spring only to find five inches of snow on the ground with more in the forecast and they had to buy gloves and scarves at a second-hand shop and try not to fall on the slick cobblestone streets in their athletic shoes. She told him about her own trip there, when she saw Don Giovanni in the same theater Mozart had premiered it in 1787, how the music had just filled her until her eyes teared up even in the funny parts. 

But it was one thing to try and distract him from chemical tests or heat or cold. This was surgery. And she'd been there. She knew the pain of the scalpel, the horror of the probing hands, the seemingly neverending agony searing everything else from her awareness. And she hurt for him. She missed him. But she never stopped talking. 

* * *

Malcolm Reed reached for her voice like a lifeline just beyond his grasp. He tried to focus on her words, her stories, but the pain burned white-hot inside him, ripping into every corner of his mind, his body. The other surgeries paled in comparison to this one as a thousand nerve endings shot liquid fire through his nervous system. And he thanked a god he wasn't sure he believed in that they weren't doing this to Hoshi anymore. 

By the time they were done, he couldn't hear her over his own mental screams. Every prick of the needles closing him up sent new shocks through his groin. He begged for the blackness to to envelop him. When it didn't, he didn't even have the strength to imagine the console, to tell her goodbye. 

* * *

Pipa had to tell her it was time to go in. Hoshi had been lost in thought, babbling stories to Malcolm for hours. Realizing now that it was late in the night in Zheiren, she knew it had to be over. He wasn't listening anymore and wouldn't be for days. She was alone again. She let the tears come as she went under the cold shower to wash away the day's grime and dirt. Tears for him. And for her. She didn't want to be alone. 

* * *

Baezhu hid his discomfort throughout the workday. It was hard. He thought of his own genitals being picked apart and studied so intrusively. Even if the alien was anesthitized, it just seemed such a violation, especially in light of his reaction to the semen collection months before. Reproductive organs represented the most private, most personal part of a person. And he realized then that he hadn't thought that way about the female and the attempts to impregnate her with a clone of the male. Were the females of their species as sentient, as intelligent, as cognizant, as the males? Did she consider such things a violation. 

He hurried home after his shift and skipped dinner as his stomach just wasn't settled. He turned on the monitor and found a comedy show. He wanted to laugh, to forget, lest someone suspect his feelings the next day at work. It worked for a few hours, but once he switched the monitor off, the sadness, the revulsion returned. He went to bed and dreamed of small primate scientists cutting him up. 

* * *

When Malcolm didn't speak for a week, Hoshi realized it was one of two things. Either he had died--in which case she needed to decide how she could accomplish her own demise--or he was unconscious after the surgery. There had seemed to be a time of actual unconsciousness after the torturous operations. She'd only had one and the pain and helplessness still haunted her. But even then, she hadn't awoken from pain but from a great, sleepy blackness. She had faith that, if he knew he was going to die, he'd say goodbye. So she tried to believe he wasn't dead. He was just sleeping a deep, dreamless, merciful sleep after an unspeakable horor. 

One thing his silence determined for her was that she was not insane or imagining his voice. If she had been, she wouldn't have wanted this silence. She would have kept his voice coming to keep her company. As it was, she turned to Pipa, who was her only other friend. 

They only spoke in the quietist whispers and at times when no one else could hear. Hoshi had given up testing her, seeing as she was no expert in such things. So she tried instead asking about the way things were in her life. Who were the overseers? What were the different kinds of people? 

Pipa's responses were the answers of a child, an innocent that found no fault in the way things were. The overseers were bosses. There were teethy ones and beaked ones and long ones. Hoshi had seen representatives of the first two. The third was news to her. She hadn't seen any long ones. What were they like? Pipa's answers were that they were long. 

On the eighth day, Malcolm's voice returned, "Frodo?" He'd used her codename. He sounded groggy and she realized he might be afraid he'd speak out loud. 

_I'm here, Sam,_ she replied. _It's over. They'll have to give you time to heal at least. Are you in pain?_

"Yes," he answered. "No. And yes. Every time I move. Or remember." 

_Where was it?_

"Don't ask," he pleaded. "Please don't ask." 

That gave her a good suspicion. They had explored his reproductive system, just as they were manipulating hers. No, she didn't want to think that! She pushed the thought deep down into a blank hole somewhere inside her mind and hoped it never crawled back out. _I won't,_ she promised him. _I won't ask. It's okay. I've missed you._

He was silent awhile and she remembered how tired she was after the procedure they'd both endured in Zheiren. "I'm tired," he finally said. 

_Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. I love you, Malcolm._

"Love. . . ." and then he was gone again into that welcome blackness where the pain and memories couldn't reach him. She missed that, too, and was glad he was getting to experience at least a few days of that in the hell they'd crashed into and been left to die in. 

* * *

They were too close together. It was apparent. The two embryos, as tiny as they were, were growing and the distance between them was shrinking because of it. It was also apparent that they'd have to grow quite a bit more before she could give birth. The embryos were nowhere near viable. 

"They could still survive," Besta agreed. "They might not conjoin." 

Enesh waved a hand. "No, one might just absorb the other. Then what would we have?" 

"A non-sentient specimen to disect once the unfinished twin was removed." 

Besta had a point there. It sometimes happened in primate births that one twin absorbed the other, but the lesser twin was always malformed and missing a brain. Such a specimen of the alien could be studied in depth with no ethical qualms. With no brain, it would feel nothing, think nothing. 

"Well, it's still to early to know," Enesh concluded. He stepped away from the monitor showing the image from the camera in the female's uterus. "The inauguration is this week, am I right?" 

Besta groaned. "Such as it is. Four years of conservative leadership. We'll be lucky if we're not at war by then with half the planet!" 

Enesh didn't understand. "It can't be that bad. There are checks on his power right? The liberals control one half of the legislature." 

"True, but the President is arguably the most powerful man in the country. And he controls the armed forces." 

"We are going to watch though, aren't we?" Enesh would anyway, but he enjoyed Besta's company. 

"Of course!" Besta clapped him on the shoulder. "It's still something to see when the government changes hands so peacefully after such a hard-fought election." 

* * *

Major Zhenah was not comfortable with the addition to his little project with Dr. Kaife: Kenu, the linguist. But as he was the only language expert with clearance and experience with the aliens, the Council had decided he and Kaife should work together where the repeated signal was concerned. 

"I would think they represent letters," Kenu conluded. "The pulses are too simple to convey words I think, especially seeing as the first--three long pulses--is repeated at the end. "The question, however, is which letters?" 

"And what does the whole message mean?" Kaife agreed. 

Zhenah suppressed a sigh. So they were letters. They were no closer to finding a meaning. "What do we know of their letters?" 

"Nothing that corresponds to three pulses, long or short." Kenu pulled out a file and spread a few pictures on the table. "These are the parts of their clothing that contained letters. And this," he held up another, "is from food wrappers they discarded and buried along their path. I can count less than twenty separate letters though we have no basis for determining if these samples encompass their entire alphabet." 

He pulled out a paper with a few of the words on it. "The female has not spoken and may not be capable of speech. The male has said only two words: one identified the female as 'Frodoh' and 'water' which he pronounced as ' _wawta'._ Unfortunately, their water container was not labelled with anything that wasn't on their clothing." 

Kaife interrupted, "And we can assume they didn't need the word 'water' on their clothing." 

"Exactly," Kenu replied. "So we don't know how they spell 'wawta.' we do know, however that this"--He pointed to the 'SATO' word--"is an identifier for the female. It is on the only patch that varies on their clothing. Since the male called her 'Frodoh', we can theorize the first letter is 'Fr,' the second and fourth are 'oh,' and the third is 'd.' 

Four letters and no way to connect them with the two letters in the pulse. Zhenah couldn't suppress the sigh this time. "So we have no way to even guess what the pulses mean?" 

Kaife nodded. "We can guess all we want. We have no objective way to determine how this code was put together." 

Kenu cleared his throat. "I think we can determine some clues." 

"Go on," Zhenah encouraged. He needed something, anything that could get them closer. 

"The clothing," Kenu said. "Except for size and gender differences, they are identical. The patches would seem to indicate a kind of uniform. It's not civilian wear." 

"Military then?" Zhenah decided Kenu was maybe a decent decision after all. 

"Possible, though other groups have uniforms--such as prisoners, emergency workers, even some civilian jobs. I should have said it's not casual wear." 

Kaife spoke up again. "Though not all people who wear uniforms would conceivably be in a small space ship with the opportunity to crash here. I'd opt for either military or prisoners." 

Zhenah had already mulled over those two scenarios. "Maybe we need to make the alien talk. Get him to say those words." He pointed to the photos on the table. "That would help you with deciphering their letters." 

"But not the meanings," Kaife pointed out. 

"Still," Kenu said, "the more he says, the more I have to work with. Though it might have to wait until next month. He's just been out of surgery for a week and a half. I can suggest to Dr. Bishtae that we try different narcotics on him next to see his reaction--and maybe get him to talk." 

Zhenah would rather they try it now, but he knew he couldn't push the scientists too far. But soon he could. As Turn approached, so did the change in the Council leadership. With Ussa as Head Councilman, Colonel Gaezhur would win more of the arguments over tha alien's treatment. 

* * *

The alien was openly upset now. Baezhu could read it in his face. His expression, the look in his eyes, was dangerous. It was the same as it was after they had colleccted semen. Violated. That's what the alien felt. 

Baezhu didn't worry so much anymore about whether or not he had any basis for interpretting such expressions. He knew because he knew the alien was sentient. And he could empathize with someone sentient. The alien would feel violated because Baezhu would feel violated in his place. The alien's expressions confirmed it. He glared at the doctors when they entered his room. He did the same with Baezhu and Hinath. Baezhu at least tried to be gentle when he changed the bandages, and he also tried to show a sympathetic expression to the alien without being too demonstrative about it to the doctors. There was really nothing more he could do with that camera watching all the time. 

Baezhu wondered if anyone else felt the way he did about the alien. If they did, they didn't show it. Bishtae might have been the likeliest, but he'd already stated that sentiment couldn't get in the way of science. Kenu maybe, but he was usually just bored. He'd had very little to work with for his months here. Burha and Geeben seemed eager to learn more and more regardless of the alien's feelings. Hinath wasn't even worth considering. Sympathy wasn't one of his strong suits. 

He was alone, just like the alien was alone. And it looked like they'd be that way for the rest of their lives. 

* * *

Malcolm was angry. Frustrated and furious. He was mad at what the scientists had done--even more so than in the past. But he was also angry at himself for the false hope he'd had that the scientists were done cutting him open. The last few months had been unpleasant but not nearly so agonizing and traumatic. 

And the fact that he could do nothing with or for his anger made him mad at the fickleness of the universe. And _Enterprise_. How could he even begin to hope that the captain or Trip would come rescue them after all this time? 

The only thing that made life bearable was Hoshi. She was the light shining in his darkness. Her voice in his mind comforted him. He listened to her and through her and was transported to a different place. Not an easy placed but at least a place with trees and grass and breezes and not just the same four walls day in and day out. 

He'd been awake for four days now. It still hurt to turn over or to relieve himself. The orcs came in to change his dressings, to check his vitals, to feed and water him as if nothing at all was amiss. Smeagol, though, was the only one to really look him in the eyes. Smeagol's eyes were about the only part of him that Malcolm could even think as expressionable. Smeagol's rigid beak didn't smile or frown. Malcolm still thought he could read something in Smeagol's eyes, but he was too angry to bother. 

Hoshi showed him a bud on one of the plants she was tending. It was a small narrow image, and a bit fuzzy. Malcolm closed his eyes and adjusted the focus on the panel labeled Video on his mental console. The image became clearer but stayed small. 

"See the fluff coming out?" she asked. 

Malcolm concentrated. The image was somewhat translucent, superimposed onto the swirling colors on the back of his eyelids. It winked in and out like a thought on the verge of being forgotten. It was really hard to make out details but he did think he could see a bit of white in the middle of the green bud. _I think so,_ he told her. _It is white?_

"Yes," she replied. "I think it's a fiber, like cotton. Now show me something." 

_Like what,_ he wondered to himself. His cell was rather bare and almost identical to the first one he was brought to. She could imagine it. It wouldn't be a good test. He needed to show her something distinct. 

* * *

"So you can tell how they'd mate?" Kahrae asked. 

Baezhu thought his friend sounded a bit too interested. "No, not without watching and that can't happen. But we can infer that it's much like our primates, and I'm not going to discuss the details over breakfast. Go home and read a biology book." 

Kahrae grunted. "You're no fun." 

Baezhu sighed. "There's not a lot of reason for fun these days. With Buftanis's new war-monger president and the uprisings in Shirkatitsa, the future looks rather dim." 

"There's still Turn!" Kahrae reached into a pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "The quota's were posted! I've got my slot!" 

Baezhu took the paper to look at it more closely. "You got two slots! I knew they'd take you." 

Kahrae smiled. "I'm sure you'll get some, too. You're the best Lesser Winged they've got there and Dr. Burha knows it." 

"Yes but one of us will have to watch the alien for the two weeks everyone else is out creating the next generation." 

Kahrae gave him a pointed look. They both said it at the same time, "Hinath!" Baezhu laughed and it felt good to laugh again. 

* * *

Two weeks after the inauguration, Enesh and Besta's workload had tripled. It had doubled when they started receiving more data from Zheiren, not quite the raw data President Gudai wanted but not just the conclusions Dr. Bishtae and the others had come to. They now had the evidence supporting the conclusions. The tripling came when the new president ordered daily reports on their progress with the female and their own conclusions about the male. 

"It's going to be a long four years," Besta griped. 

Enesh nodded. He was writing a report on the latest exploring done by the Zheiren scientists. "It's really fascinating," he said, "the number of nerve endings. They could really only estimate and it's still double that of our primates. 

"So intercourse is either very painful or very enjoyable for him," Besta concluded. "It would be interesting to see if there's a correlation in the female's genitalia." 

Enesh thought about that and dropped the report on his desk. He moved to another computer and brought up the magnetic resonance scan they had taken when the female arrived. He input a command to have the computer highlight the nervous system and then zoomed in on her genitalia. "Besta look!" Besta came over to join him. There was a structure in the female that he'd never seen in their own primates. And it was loaded with nerve endings, thousands upon thousands of them. 

"Makes one think it's not simply to satisfy a biological imparative toward procreation," Besta said. "They might have intercourse just for purely recreational reasons." 

Enesh tended to agree but on observation didn't fit. "They were together for a month and didn't mate even once. And they had nothing better to do." 

"They were also recuperating from the first invasive exploratory surgery. They might not have been in the mood." 

Enesh nodded again, conceding the point. "No, they weren't." 

* * *

Malcolm Reed stared at his food. Hard. But while his eyes focussed on his dinner, his mind concentrated on amplifing the outgoing video signal. 

_Is it fish?_ Hoshi asked excitedly. 

Malcolm nearly smiled. He shifted his gaze to the vegetable beside it. 

* * *

She could see it. It was red and ovular. She was about to tell him that when a painful cramp seized her abdomen, doubling her over and stealing her breath. 

Pipa was near and noticed. She dropped her bag and ran to Hoshi. "Hurt?" 

Hoshi couldn't even take a breath to answer. She grimaced in pain. 

"Red," Pipa said. 

Hoshi looked down and realized she was bleeding. 

Pipa ran away. None of the other females even stopped working. Finally the cramp released her and she blew out a breath she hadn't realized she had. 

"What's wrong?" Malcolm knew. 

_Cramp,_ she told him. _I'm bleeding. I think I'll be going back to the lab now._ She tried to stand but doubled over again. 

"That might not be a bad thing this time around." 

She vaguely heard the sound of running feet. Then two strong arms lifted her still bent body up and then she was whirring past row after row of fibrous plants the females were picking. 

He was right. Maybe it was a good thing, even if it hurt like hell. Whatever they had put in her was coming out. 


	21. Chapter 21

Author's note: Sorry this one is short, but it just seemed the chapter had to end where it did. I know it's a long time coming. Being a mom now (yes, I'm not really a guy. Philippe is a penname) now with adopted older children is a challenge. A big one. I keep holding on to the knowledge that in the end, it will be worth it. If you're a praying person, can you keep me and my family in your prayers? Anyway, here's the next chapter: 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"One has survived!" Enesh exclaimed as he removed the camera from the female's uterus. The miscarriage of the second fetus had also expelled the small remote camera they had left in her. It was surely now trampled in the fields alone with the fetal tissue. 

"How does it look?" Besta asked. He leaned over Enesh's shoulder to see the still images as the latter pulled them up on the monitor. 

Enesh shook his head. "It's difficult to say. What can we base it on? We've never done this with this species before." 

Besta moved to another monitor across the room. "What about the other one? The one she lost. What do we have from it before it was expelled?" 

Enesh crossed over to join him and pulled up the archive. He panned back through the images from the day before, then zoomed in on the most promising view of the expelled fetus. Even without knowing what was normal for the species, he could see this one was definitely abnormal. Its head was distorted. There were no eyes. Its feet and armes were twisted and bent. The abnormality could be why it hadn't survived. The camera couldn't see into its heart or other vital organs. There could have been problems with the lungs or heart or even the brain. 

* * *

She had heard--and listened to--enough. One had survived. Which meant she was still pregnant and having understood that, Hoshi had found it hard to stay in her state of denial. She finaly shared her fears. Malcolm understood them. While they could have used his semen to impregnate her, they might also have used their own in the hopes of making some kind of hybrid. She had even glimpsed an image from the far side of the lab. A mutation. A monster, in her mind. Was it the one that had survived? 

Malcolm had tried to reassure her, reminding her of--though he didn't even want to remember it--the semen they'd collected from him. 

"Even if it was a normal baby, I didn't get to choose to be pregnant,' she argued. "Besides, what life would a child have here? It would be treated like you in a lab or like me in a field. Or it would be on exhibit in some form of secret zoo. It would be better for us all if it miscarried. There's no life for any of us here." 

She was right. Malcolm couldn't come up with any scenario that would be good for a baby on this planet. Unfortunately, Hoshi had a lot of fertile years ahead of her, so Radagast and his pal were sure to keep trying. Was it inevitable? 

_Work as hard as you can, then,_ Malcolm told her. _Wear your body out. Make it hard for the fetus to survive._

"I don't know any sure-fire way to miscarry." 

_Neither do I,_ he admitted. _We'll just have to do what we can. Overwork yourself, try not to eat right, sleep on your stomach. Fall down a lot._

Hoshi was still glum. "If they even let me go back to the fields." 

_We can hope. Keep crying._ He even managed a mental smile for her. _It worked last time._

* * *

"Turn is nearly upon us and we don't even know its name!" Gaezhur argued. He felt more confident to do so since Ussa would soon be Head Councilman. The Winged presently in that position knew that, too, and allowed more latitude to the military in the Shirkatesan issues, so he might do as well with the alien. 

The Head Councilman held up a hand to forestall Burha's objections. "What would you have in mind?" 

"Let us loosen its tongue," Gaezhur responded. "Do some tests on its endurance to pressure, how easy its bones break, only without sedating him first." 

"He might die from the stress!" Burha blurted out. "And then what answers would you have? Besides, even if he does talk, you have no basis for understanding anything he says!" 

Gaezhur fumed. "We'd have better luck in that, I should think," he shot back, "if he spoke more than just two words!" 

"Enough!" the Head Councilman shouted. "There'll be no more yelling in the chamber or I'll have you both removed." 

Gaezhur dipped his haed. "Yes, sir." 

"My apologies," Burha offered. 

"Good. I think the colonel has a good point. Dr. Kenu has ceased even submitting reports for lack of anything new to add. He does not have enough to go on. The alien needs to talk." 

Gaezhur bobbed his head with satisfaction. 

"However," the Head Councilman went on, "we can't allow you to torture the alien to death. He's the only one we have thanks to a spy who infiltrated your ranks, Colonel. We have drugs that can make one more willing to answer questions. Perhaps we should try those." 

"We have no way of knowing they'd have the desired effect on the alien," Burha pointed out. 

"So it's a valid area of research that can serve both our needs." He turned to address the other members of the council. "Do you concur?" 

Ussa and the Raptor representatives stood and bowed. "We do." The Wingeds and the Monitors followed with the same. 

"Then it is decided," the Head Councilman stated. "You have your orders. Make him talk." 

* * *

"You should be excited!" Kahrae told him. "You'll finally get him to talk!" 

"Or kill him with the first dose!" Baezhu realized he was perhaps becoming a bit too transparent with his friend. He needed to keep his reasons scientific. 

Kahrae shook his head and popped in another rodent. "You guys won't let that happen," he said after he had swallowed. "Besides, isn't it strange he hasn't said much yet? I mean if you were trapped by an alien civilization for nine months, could you keep silent for that long?" 

Baezhu bobbed his head, wondering which side of this Kahrae was really on. "Exactly," he said. "He either has a reason or he can't speak." 

"But he said 'water,' and he said the female's name." 

Baezhu had forgotten he'd told Kahrae about those. 

Kahrae didn't give him a chance to respond. "You need to ask yourself if his reasons for not talking are for his good and match up with our good." 

* * *

Malcolm had realized something had changed for the worse when a very large, toothy orc walked in through he door, followed by Saruman, Smeagol, and a few other usual orcs. 

_Hoshi?_

"I'm here, Malcolm. What's wrong?" 

_There's a long-armed T-Rex in my room._

The T-Rex had a determined look on his face, but then, with that reptillian face, he wouldn't have a very flexible face. He might always look like that. He tried to remember when he'd first seen ones like him, there in the desert, but it was so long ago. He turned on the the visual display control on his mental console and cranked up Audio II so Hoshi could hear. 

Malcolm sat up as the group came closer to his bed. He sucked in a quick breath with the pain that shot through his groin. It had gotten better in the weeks--had it been weeks yet?--since the surgery but he was still quite tender. 

Saruman spoke to Smeagol, who hesitated before stepping to Malcolm's side. "Sheresada," he barely whispered before he pulled out a syringe from his pocket. 

Malcolm tried to move away but he really had nowhere to go. Whatever they were going to do was going to happen. There were five of them between him and the door--and billions beyond the door. 

"He said he is sorry," Hoshi told him as the needle sunk into his neck. 

Smeagol eased him back onto the bed as the drug took affect and his body become sluggish and heavy. Malcolm didn't resist. He felt dizzy and scared. They were going to cut him open again. 

"Did you eat today?" Hoshi asked. 

_What?_ He couldn't think clearly as to why that would be important. _Yes._

Smeagol looked back to Saruman again but Saruman just nodded. Smeagol turned back to him. "Bay-zhoo," he said, slowly and distinctly, as he touched his own chest. He pointed to Saruman. "Bish-tay." Then to the T-Rex. "Zhen-ah." Then to the other orcs. "Geeben, Kenoo." finally, he tounched Malcolm's chest and waited. 

Malcolm knew what they wanted. _My name._

"How do you feel?" she asked. 

_Dizzy, heavy, like I'm swimming. I don't like swimming, Hoshi._ His heart pounded hard under his rib cage. 

"Frodo. Call me Frodo, Sam. They've drugged you. You just might slip." 

_Some kind of truth drug?_

"Maybe. Kenoo and Geeben are new guys. I feel like I've seen Zhenah before." 

_Geeben has been around since Radagast left,_ Malcolm told her. _I think Zhen-ah is from the desert._

"Okay, good. So he's one of the army guys. But what about Kenoo? Why's he in the room?" 

Smeagol tried again. "Bay-zhoo." He touched Malcolm's chest. Malcolm turned his head away. It was worse now. The wall was only a foot or so away, but it was fuzzy . . . and moving. His chest hurt from the pounding and he was getting cold. On the inside. Or that's how it felt. 

* * *

"Something's wrong!" Baezhu said, beckoning Dr. Bishtae over. He checked the alien's pulse and it as fast--very fast. The alien was turning gray and his eyes had rolled back into his head. 

Bishtae nodded and together they pushed the bed back toward the by-pass machine. Geeben had left at once and now returned with previously harvested blood so they could flush his drug-saturated bood from his system. "This should not have been rushed," he said over his shoulder to Zhenah. 

"Will it die?" the major calmly asked. 

"Possibly!" Bishtae shot back. "We should have started with a small dose and stepped it up until it was effective. We have no basis for knowledge of his tolerance!" And, as if to prove his point, the alien began seizing there on the bed. 

Baezhu covered the alien's torso with his body to try and keep him still enough for Dr. Bishtae to insert the tubes. Dr. Geeben tried to hold his head still, and Kenu even stepped up to hold down the alien's flailing legs. 

Baezhu could feel the alien's heart beat wildly in his chest. Dr. Bishtae was right. He could have an infarction if this went on. 

But, as the machine took over pumping in the harvested blood and pumping out--and filtering--the drugged blood, the seizures turned to tremors and the alien's heartrate normalized its rhythm, even as it retained much of its speed. 

"He's at forty-five percent," Dr. Geeben stated. Baezhu stood back up and noticed now that the alien's eyes were still open but glassy. 

"Is it stable?" Zhenah asked, again in his calm, unconcerned tone. 

"His heartrate is still too fast. He only has one heart," Bishtae argued. "We can't go ruining it." 

Zhenah simply raised a hand as if to say, "Carry on," and stayed standing in the same spot. Baezhu realized they weren't going to call this off. They were only lowering the amount of drug cocktail in the alien's system. 

* * *

Hoshi almost got sick herself until Malcolm's vision in her mind blanked out. She tried to act like she was paying attention to the hay she and the other females were laying over the now-harvested fields. The air was much crisper, and they hadn't yet given her anything more substantial to wear. She had begun to hope exposure could lead to miscarriage. But at the moment, she was very worried about Malcolm. They had drugged him. That was obvious. But how could they regulate his reaction to the drugs? How could they even anticipate what those particular chemicals would do to his system? He could be dying! 

But suddenly, the visual feed returned. It was gone and then, as if she'd blinked to clear her vision, it was just back. It was fuzzy but more steady. She heard voices, too, just not Malcolm's. Was he even thinking? 

The T-Rex, Zhen-ah, was closer now, looming in front of Malcolm's face. "My name," he said, slowly drawing out each word, "is Zhen-ah. Your name is. . . ." He left a pause. 

"My name," Malcolm slurred, and Hoshi nearly gasped. Had he spoken? Wait. It was in English. And Zhen-ah didn't react. It was only a thought. 

_Sam!_ Hoshi told him urgently. _Your name is Sam._

"He wants to know my name," Malcolm told her, as if he hadn't heard. He almost sounded drunk, but sad drunk, in a way. 

_Your name is Sam._ She didn't figure he was up for much in the way of reasoning. He might talk or he might not. But she hoped that by keeping that simple sentence in front of him, he'd say what she told him to say if he did talk. _Just Sam._

"Samwise Gamgee," he corrected. And by the way Zhen-ah pulled back and the others murmurred, he hadn't just thought it. He'd said it out loud. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Hoshi changed to Japanese once she was sure he'd repeat what she said. When they had asked another simple question, she had thought as loud as possible to override them, first just repeating the word "Hobbit." Once he said that, she tried to think fast how to tell the story, if it came to that. The drug was apparently effective. He seemed compelled to talk, but to her relief, he seemed to be talking to her. "Yes, a Hobbit," he said. 

So she convinced him to repeat after her. The last thing out of place he'd said was, "Okay." 

She started the story in English. Short fragments of sentences. Then she did the switch. He struggled a bit with the pronunciation, but that wasn't important. She described Hobbiton and the Shire and Hobbits in general, all in Japanese, and ignored everything the orcs said. She just watched the faces through Malcolm's eyes. If they didn't speak, she tried to keep Malcolm quiet. But he needed to talk, and she realized he wasn't paying any attention to the orcs either. 

The orcs stopped bothering to ask questions. Kenoo, the new guy took notes and the others just stood in silent fascination. Except Zhen-ah. He almost seemed to smirk in satisfaction. 

When she got to Bilbo's party, she switched to Korean, still keeping the statements short and grammatically incorrect or incomplete. She was going to give Kenoo the biggest puzzle she could manage, linguist to linguist. That's what he was. That's why he was in the room for this experiment. Someone had to learn to understand what Malcolm had said. 

* * *

"We should stop," Kenu said suddenly. 

"We need him to talk," the Major replied pointedly. 

"He has done that," Kenu pointed out. "He's still doing that." At that moment, the alien--Samwize Gamjee--stopped his recital. "Now we need to make sense of it." 

Baezhu thought he had a point. Samwize had spoken for three hours already. Everything was recorded but none of it made any sense at all. They had to learn to understand it. 

"I need to analyze what we've got," Kenu went on. "It could take years to understand even this much." 

Dr. Bishtae stood up. "Dr. Kenu is right. We're a long way from getting any strategic information. Maybe we can try again tomorrow with something a bit more basic." 

"How basic?" Zhenah asked. He didn't look happy but he sounded a bit resigned. 

"Trees, the sun, grass and so on," Bishtae replied. "So we'll have more of a reference, a list of translatable words." 

Baezhu stood, too, glad for the opportunity to stretch his legs. He really wished they'd brought some chairs in with them. He felt bad for Samwize--It seemed easier to shorten it.--but knew it would be worse tomorrow. Part of him was excited at the chance to finally communicate but he knew that Samwize had withheld his speech for all these months for a reason. He'd had that one bit of control. And now it was gone. 

* * *

Once the fuzziness wore off, Malcolm found he could keep his mouth shut again. Whatever they'd given him had worked, much to his delayed chagrin. _What did I say, Ho--Frodo?_

"Nothing you'll need to worry about," Hoshi answered. "Though they'll probably call you by name now." 

_Sam?_ He thought he remembered saying that. 

"Samwise Gamgee, actually. You were quite adamant. Beyond that I stuck to the plan and it worked." She did sound pleased. But Malcolm couldn't remember a plan. "I got to the point where Bilbo left the Ring and set off on his journey." 

_Oh,_ that _plan. Plenty of material left if they pull that on me again._

"Movie-wise anyway. I don't have the book memorized." 

_Too bad,_ Malcolm told her. He was relieved, to say the least. _If we have to stay here for the rest of our lives, we could also have done the_ Silmarillion. 

She was silent for a moment. "I don't want to think that far ahead." 

_Me neither. There's got to be some way out of this. For you, anyway._ He really didn't want to lose her but the future was no good for either of them, and she had a baby to think of. 

"What do you mean?" 

_I mean, you should keep on the lookout for an opportunity, a backup plan, per se._

Silence again, then, "What about you?" 

_I already tried. Before I found out you were still alive. They always managed to keep me from it. I can't get out of this room, and they're always watching and listening in._

"I don't want to leave you there alone, Malcolm," she finally said, "but I'll look--just in case." 

* * *

"At least it's talking," Kahrae said. "Kenu must be happy now." 

Baezhu snorted. "He was, at first. Then after we used pictures of things like the sun, trees, birds, and such, he listened to the first day's recording again. He got so upset, he threw all his papers on the floor." 

Kahrae shook his head and set his drink back down. "Why would he be upset? He's got something to work with." 

"Too much. He thinks the alien--Samwize--is trying to trick him." Baezhu tried to hide his pride. 

"While he was drugged?" 

"The language changes. At least Kenu says so. The patterns and syntax, the sounds of vowels just change. So he still can't make anything of it." 

Kahrae shook his head again. "The alien didn't want to talk and the drug made him talk. But he still had enough control to trick us by changing languages? How? If he had that control, why didn't he just not speak? 

"Dr. Bishtae wondered the same thing." 

"How many languages are we talking about?" 

Baezhu had to stifle a smile. "Seven, at least. And that was just the first three hours. When he identified the pictures, they all sounded very different, too. One might have been guttural and another was graceful. He even had trouble pronouncing some." 

Kahrae was incredulous. "He has a speech impediment?" 

Baezhu laughed. "Maybe." 

* * *

The first snow came three weeks before Turn. Enesh was fascinated. He'd grown up in the southern part of Zheiren and had worked in a desert. He'd never seen snow before. He could only stand to be in it for a few minutes before he'd start stiffening up. It amazed him that the facility wasn't packed up and moved south. Only five percent of the population were Cold Raptors. They were the only ones who could work outside safely since the weather had turned cold. 

Well, except for the alien. They'd had an overcoat and foot-coverings made for her from a _kesena_ hide. They wanted to keep her busy to be sure she didn't become despondent and try to harm the fetus she was carrying. Since there were no crops to work with, she was put to work tending live animals near the facility's perimeter and shoveling snow from the walkways. The former she did with a small group of Cold Raptor juvenile female's overseen by a full-grown male Cold Raptor. The latter she did in a group of three, overseen by another Cold Raptor. She still slept with the same group of juveniles though they were now housed in a smaller area. The females of her pod were busy preparing nests and were too territorial to be trusted around the alien or even the juveniles. 

It wasn't necessary for Enesh to go out at all given that his apartment was so near the lab and there were underground walkways connecting all the buildings. Besta had explained that they were used for storage of crops, hay, and other farming supplies during the growing season, but opened up in the winter to accommodate the scientific work of the facility. Still, he went out every morning to feel the crisp air and to touch the snow, if only for a few minutes. It was such a novelty for him. 

* * *

"What do you mean? You can't tell us anything?" Zhenah was furious. They'd gotten the alien to talk three weeks ago. How was it possible the linguist had nothing? 

"I mean, he is speaking at least a dozen different languages," Kenu told him. 

"A dozen?" Kaife repeated. "How do you know?" 

"I'm a linguist," Kenu told him. 

Zhenah actually admired the Winged's confidence in himself. Not that he'd let it show. "Which is his first language?" 

"Probably the one he spoke when he said his name," Kenu replied, "and what can we tell from his name? He didn't say 'My name is Samwize Gamjee.' He just said the name." 

"He said a lot more than that." 

Kenu didn't back down. "Less than twenty words, with no reference for what they mean. And they were choppy so I expect they were given in phrases rather than coherent sentences. Then he changed to a much different language, and things got more fluid even though he got more slurred." 

Kaife brought out all the photos of the patches from their clothing. "Can we pronounce this then?" He pointed to the one with the symbols 'REED.' 

"If the second name is a surname," Kenu answered, "it would be 'Gamjee.' And if that's the case, it may be a language written without vowels. But even then, this symbol is repeated." He pointed to the center of the word. "There's no sound repeated in 'Gamjee.' Or in 'Samwize,' for that matter." 

"Just as there are no symbols for the repeated sound in the female's name," Zhenah concluded. 

"Yes, but is 'Frodoh' her given name or surname? Do females have one name or two? This," Kenu said, pointing now to the 'SATO' symbols, "may not even be 'Frodoh' at all." 

Zhenah made up his mind. "Then the drug is not enough. Get these words, all of them, on cards. We'll make him tell us what they say." 

* * *

"It's gibberish!" Besta proclaimed. "I know it's written phonetically, but it makes no sense." 

"Of course, it doesn't. We don't know his language," Enesh took the latest transcript. The male alien was talking. Enesh hadn't really expected him to give up his silence, but the drugs had made that easier. "Or languages. Kenu believes he's used a dozen or more of them." 

"Well, we're not cryptologists," Besta concluded. "We'll need to pass this on to Intelligence. Maybe they'll crack something Kenu hasn't." Besta got up and picked up the telephone. "Get me the Director," he told the operator. 

* * *

Hoshi was finding it difficult to remember which words were to be in which language. 'Sun' had been in Polish, right? 'Bird,' in French? Or was it Farsi? If she was in the lab, she might be better organized mentally. But she wasn't in the lab. She was in the snow. Fortunately, there hadn't been a lot of it. She really didn't know how much of it to expect or how long the winter would be here. She cleared walkways with a big shovel in between trips to feed the animals on the far side of the complex. The latter made it hard to concentrate on the language. 

She had never seen that side of the compound until a few weeks ago. The compound itself was bordered by a tall rock fence with razor coils on top of it. There were pens and coops on the side of a building, with openings that let the animals get out of the weather by entering the building. There were a lot of animals. Most of them were rodent-like creatures that Hoshi recognized from the lunch given to the other females. There were also bird-like animals. And things that might be the equivalent of cows or pigs, though both were covered in long hair, presumably to protect them from the cold. 

Her companions on these feeding trips were a pair of toothy, non-winged females. These were the Raptors, as was their guard. He was bigger and didn't seem too interested in his charges. He barked orders to keep them in line and didn't seem at all phased to have an alien in his troop. 

From the last coop, she could see a field with a pond or creek. Beyond that, she could make out tall, bare trees and the border wall. More trees seemed to be on the other side of the wall, but she couldn't be sure from that distance. She thought, that those trees might just be her best chance of escape without interference from the scientists. The winter made it possible thanks to her change of duties. 

Each time in the last week that she'd made the trek out there, she tried to work out a plan. If she could get away from the others, and the guard, maybe she could run across that field and dip herself in the water. Hypothermia would be easier if she was wet. Then she could try to use the trees to get over the wall and hope to elude the guards long enough to freeze to death. 

Not that she was ready for that. She didn't really want to die. She wanted to live. Just somewhere else. And with Malcolm. She couldn't just leave him. She kept the plan in reserve and tweaked it each morning and night as she walked back from the feeding trips. She needed to work out her best chances of getting away and of accomplishing what she'd need to. It would need to be colder, probably. Would more snow be better or none at all? Which tree would give her the best chance of getting over the wall? How long did it take to freeze to death? Did it hurt? 


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Thanks to Pesterfield for finding most of the typo/speakos in this story. They should be fixed now. I started typing it where I had a desk. I finished typing it where I did not. It was hard to hold the composition book where I could see it and the keyboard where I could type, so I used Dragon Naturally Speaking. It's pretty good, but not perfect (and I don't even have the most recent version). I tried to keep an eye on it as it typed but a few got past me. This one for example: He Loudly.... When I said "He tapped loudly", Dragon must have thought I said "He Cap-loudly" which meant to capitalize Loudly. Spellcheck won't catch that sort of thing. Now, why it didn't catch "be3cause or be3fore" I can't say. Anyway, these should be fixed. Let me know if you find any more. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"We have the permission of the Council," Major Zhenah said, stepping forward until he was only inches from Burha's face. "You were there." 

"He's the only one we have," Burha argued. Baezhu was impressed by the doctor's courage but he realized none of this boded well for Samwize. Burha wasn't done. "What are you going to do when you kill him, ask for Buftanis to hand us one of the clones--if they ever manage to make one?" 

Zhenah bared his teeth. "Your job is to make sure it doesn't die!" 

Dr. Bishtae tried to get between them. "I read the orders from the Council. Our job is to glean scientific information, which we can't do if you kill him. So we'll just have to work together to get the strategic information you want and the scientific information we need." 

He'd let Baezhu read the orders, too. The Council approved more aggressive investigations without anesthesia, such as his tolerance for water, pressure, and any number of things that completely contradicted what Dr. Bishtae had told him before. They hadn't been cruel up until now. Admittedly, things hadn't always been pleasant for Samwize, but they'd never purposely caused him pain. Even the recent forcing of him to speak had been painless. 

Now that was going to change. And Baezhu couldn't think of any way to help Samwize short of releasing him, and it wasn't like he could do that. Even if he could, there was no where to release him to. He wasn't a wild animal from the woods or the ocean. He was an alien from outer space. Samwize was stuck and so was he. 

Kenu stepped forward. "We're going to start with making him say these words." He help up a stack of cards. "In one language." 

"Give them to him," Bishtae suggested. "Let's see if he'll tell us those words without forcing him. He's probably intelligent enough to know we're on to him. And what lows we'd stoop to." 

Zhenah was still angry but he nodded. "He's got one hour to decide. And you've got one hour to decide which lows we'll stoop to if he doesn't do it voluntarily." 

Dr. Bishtae sighed but he, too, nodded. He took the stack from Kenu and passed them to Baezhu. "Take these to him. You have a connection with him. See if he'll tell you." 

Baezhu didn't relish what he had to do. Neither was a good choice for Samwize. He'd have to give up his one area of control or have it taken from him. Baezhu didn't want any part of it, but he couldn't just refuse. That wasn't how life was. He grabbed some blank pages and a pen. This wouldn't be very easy to convey. 

* * *

_It's Smeagol,_ Malcolm thought to Hoshi. _He's alone. I might need your insight here._

"I'm here," she replied. "Let me see?" 

Smeagol carried some large cards and a pen. He came all the way to the bed and sat down on it. On top of the cards were some empty sheets of paper. On it, he drew what appeared to be a clock. Malcolm had seen enough alien computers to recognize a time-keeping device, even if it wasn't Earth-style. Then Smeagol drew another under it. The symbols on each had to be numbers and only on changed from the top clock to the lower. A change of time. But how much and why? 

Smeagol wrote some other symbols below the clocks. He help up a fist with one hand and pointed with the other to the first symbol under the clocks. "Euk." He moved his pointing finger to the next symbol and raised one of the fingers from his fist. "Ak" He pointed to the third symbol and raised his second finger. 

Malcolm had it figured out before Smeagol raised the thumb. _He's counting._

"Yes, and the clocks are showing one hour. The first clock's number for the hour is zero. The second's is one." 

Malcolm nodded slightly. It was enough for Smeagol to catch. He put the paper aside and laid out the cards on the bed. 

Smeagol spoke more openly then and Malcolm tried to block it out. Besides he was distracted by the cards. Because what he saw on them was a shock to his system: ENTERPRISE, EARTH, UNITED, STARFLEET, RATION, REED, SATO, and FIELD. 

"He says you have one hour to decide to read them or they're going to hurt you. He said 'they,' Malcolm. Not 'we.'" 

_That's why I don't call him 'Gollum,'_ Malcolm replied. _So they're on to our little trick._ To give Smeagol a clue that he got the gist of the conversation, Malcolm picked up the STARFLEET card and pretended to study it. Smeagol took the hint and left. One hour. What am I going to do? 

Hoshi took a minute before answering. "It's only 14 letters. They can't learn a whole language from that, not when we use 26. But they can catch inconsistencies. So we'll have to work out a pattern that fits our names. REED has to be either 'Samwise' or 'Gamgee.' And SATO has to be 'Frodo.' So what if we make those the sounds of the letters? S for 'fr', A and O are 'oh' and T is 'd.' All those letters are in the other words so we can put the sounds in them, too." 

Malcolm looked at the card with his own name. _But mine isn't so easy. The two E's have to have consonants in them for either 'Gamgee' or 'Samwise.'_

"Two letters, especially two vowels, can change sounds in combination. Still, I think it works best with 'Samwise.' The R is an 'es' and the D a 'z.' So the two E's would have to represent 'amwhy.'" 

_Isn't that a bit of a stretch?_

Hoshi's voice sounded almost playful. "Why? We're making up a language here. We don't need English rules." 

_Okay, so there are two E's in 'Starfleet.' That would have to end in 'amwide?'_

"And begin with 'frdos.' We just have to decide what the FL will be. And both of those are in 'field' so we have to repeat them there. What about 'frdoskgamwide?'" 

_Easy for you to say._ He felt her smile at that. _Would it be better just to keep frustrating them?_

"And have them hurt you, Malcolm?" The smile was gone. "Things are changing. The army guy came to your room. There's something going on here, too. The females are acting strange. Some of them were moved to a different holding area. We have to live or die, Malcolm. If we can't do the latter, we have to do the former, and there's no reason to invite torture." 

_There is a reason,_ he argued. _Maybe two._

"I think I know the second. But they've shown themselves quite capable of keeping you alive. The first isn't such a big deal. We can still tell them lies in one language. So practice: 'Frdoskgamwide'." 

She was right. Malcolm sighed and then said it, silently, of course. He tried it out a few more times. 

"Now the others. We only need to decide the H in 'Earth.' But who's to say it has to be a consonant. Let's make it a vowel. 'Aosdeh.'" 

_How do you figure? Never mind. I'll take your word for it._

"Say it a few times: 'Aosdeh.' It's like the 'ao' in 'tao.'" 

Malcolm tried that one out a few times and went back to 'Frdoskgamwide' to keep it fresh in his memory. 

"Good." She was smiling again. 

They spent the rest of the hour working out the other for words. "United" was the last one and it came out as "pludaz." 

_At least that one's easy to say. I have to sell these if they're to believe me. They're mostly the words on our uniforms._

"I'll help you." 

* * *

When the hour had passed, Hoshi had just moved to another sidewalk. It was a large complex and so, depending on how much snow had fallen, she had a lot of work to do. It made her wonder what they did for this before they got an alien to do the work. It was cold, even with the fur, ill-fitting coat and moccasins. But at least shoveling snow didn't take much of her cognitive abilities. She could focus more on Malcolm. Things were becoming more desperate there. They were threatening to torture him. 

He opened video to her as before, so she saw the first two in were Kenoo and Zhenah. The former picked up the cards and turned the first--STARFLEET--toward Malcolm. 

"'Frdoskgamwide,'" Malcolm spat out. A clue to them that he was not doing this willingly. 

It wasn't good enough for the linguist. He pointed to the first letter. Malcolm huffed and then said, "'fr.'" They went on letter for letter until the double-E. At that Malcolm raised two fingers and pointed at both together before saying "'amwhy'" then finished by pointing one finger at the T and labeling it "'d.'" 

'Aosdeh' was sounded out next as 'ah-oh-s-d-eh.' She was proud of him. He was handling their made-up language well. 

Then he hesitated at ENTERPRISE. It was quite long. "' _Aldastsufra_ ,'" she reminded him. 

"'Aldastsufra,'" he repeated, trying to add a bit of anger into his voice. He sounded out each letter in staccato. He was a good actor, overall. 

A little prompt then at the start of each other word got them through 'kuagz,' 'sodowl,' and 'pludaz.' She helped him sound out the latter. Kenoo scribbled on each card after it was finished. Pronunciation notes, presumably. Then he promptly left the room. They'd given him something to work with. 

_For all the good it will do him,_ Hoshi commented. 

"It's not him I'm worried about," Malcolm thought back to her. He looked straight at Zhenah. The T-Rex stood still, not two feet away, teeth bared. Finally, he turned and stomped out. "I think I robbed him of an opportunity." 

* * *

"It's close!" Kahrae exclaimed. Baezhu could feel an increase in the excitement of the crowd in the cafeteria. A part of him wished he could feel it. Back before Samwize and Frodoh had come. Back then, the universe, and his place in it, had made sense. Now, he was involved in an internal secret of global implications and a personal secret worry and concern for the cause of the other secret. An alien. He had already bordered on treason. It was so much simpler before. His first Turn as an adult. His first mating. He would have been very excited. 

Still, personal concerns aside, he could feel a change. Hormones. How frustrating that must have been for those who didn't make the quota. He used those feelings to try and fake the excitement level Kahrae couldn't hide. "Just a matter of days!" 

"Ten, ten days!" Kahrae corrected. "So why aren't you happy? You made the quota." 

Kahrae knew him too well. They sat down. "I don't know how many slots," he tried. But Kahrae looked down his nose at him. He wasn't buying it. "Samwize," Baezhu finally admitted. "I'm worried what will happen to him when the military is in charge." 

Kahrae sighed. "I can see that. I have a disadvantage compared to other Raptors: I have a Winged friend. His friendship makes me look at things from a different point of view sometimes." 

Baezhu looked up from his plate. "Like now?" 

Kahrae's head bobbed. "Very much like now. I'm military. So knowing what I'm not supposed to know, I can see the tactical, intelligence side of this. Samwize must have incredible information, and we ought to get it from him if he won't offer it freely. But you're my friend and a scientist, and I can see what an opportunity he is to learn from, even when he doesn't give information freely. Even if that information isn't tactical. The scientific side showed us that we're not alone in the universe, that mammals from other worlds can be sentient. That's pretty big stuff." 

"What tactical information would be useful," Baezhu asked, "if he'd give it? His skyship was destroyed, and we have the only piece of technology that remains." 

Kahrae held up a hand. "Ah, but it's possible, depending on what his role was on the skyship, that he could recreate other technology or give us ways to defend ourselves if there was an invasion." 

"Which still means he'd have to be alive, and we'll have to be able to communicate with him," Baezhu argued. "That's going to take time. A lot of time." 

Kahrae bobbed his head again. "And the military isn't known for its patience." 

* * *

Enesh stared at the print-out in front of him. His beak opened and closed as he tried to quietly pronounce the foreign words phonetically spelled on the sheet. He could manage of a few of them. The ones noted as FIELD, UNITED, RATION, and EARTH. But the longer ones were more difficult with their consonant clusters and that same sound that started the female's name. They managed it well enough that she responded to it, but he wasn't sure he could really pronounce it right, given his rigid beak and their supple lips. 

"They managed to get him to say more than his name," he told Besta as the latter entered the lab. He handed him the sheet. 

"Well, I'll bet that's easier for him to say than us. How's the linguist doing with it?" 

"Dr. Kenu has found patterns with the letters so he can at least work out which sounds go with which symbols. But he doesn't know much about their meaning." 

Besta turned the sheet over. "Looks like he figured out one. ' _Aldastsufra_ ,'" he stumbled through that one, "was that a patch with an image of what could be the mothership? It doesn't look anything like the ship that flew overhead the day of the crash." 

Enesh nodded. "It's a good inference. The one that flew over was rather boxy. The one on the patch definitely wasn't." 

"' _Kuagz Sodowl_ ' was on a food wrapper. It could name the food inside or be more generic such as 'field portion.'" 

Enesh snorted. "Could go either way on that phrase. It's narrowed the possibilities only slightly. If it means the food, there could be thousands of the names and we know none of them." 

Besta put the sheet down. "The other three are together on a patch, but the image doesn't give any real clue. It could be an organizational patch. An organization to which the mothership belongs, or it could denote the smaller vessel that crashed." 

Enesh stood and moved to the display to pull up the uterine camera image. "Well, at least he's got some ideas. It's further than they were. But I don't see how Kenu can learn their language from that. How else will we understand what they make him say?" 

"Or what he's already said." 

Enesh didn't really hear. He grabbed the display control and zoomed in on the fetus. 

"What's wrong?" Besta asked. 

"Something's off. I can only compare with primate fetuses of the species here on Sharu, but the proportions don't seem right. The head should be bigger, the arms longer. Of course, it may be that this is normal for this stage of development. We really know less about this than Kenu does those words." 

* * *

Kenu threw the cards down on Kaife's desk. "I've been over it and over it," he complained. "They don't even sound like _any_ of the other languages he's used." 

Kaife picked them up, noting the phonetic markings under each letter. "The thirteenth? But is it his native language?" 

Kenu sighed. "It holds together. Every one of these," he reached across to point to an 'A', "sounds like 'oh.' Every letter matches up." 

Kaife set the cards down. "And I think that's a point for native. He only had an hour to decide. Could he have worked out such a consistent ruse in that time?" He still wondered if any of the words or symbols matched the signal the communications device had transmitted in the desert. 

"That would depend on how intelligent he is." 

"I think it's time we forced the issue." 

Both Wingeds turned around to see Major Zhenah enter. "If he can speak twelve languages, he's intelligent," he continued. "One hour was too much time. He was too relaxed. A little stress could confuse him, shake him up so he can't be so clever," 

Kaife had an idea. "Sleep deprivation just might get past the Wingeds reserves," he said. "Play him the signal." He tapped loudly on his desk: three spaced-out taps, three quick ones, and three spaced out again. "Over and over." He looked to Kenu, the closest of the cadre to the scientists. 

"I think it's a valid avenue of study." 

* * *

Kahrae found himself missing the stars. He had gotten used to them as he stood guard outside. But now his rotation was inside. One thing he was glad for though was that he was alone in the corridor he guarded. The only sounds were the animals, and most of those were asleep anyway. He had no one to talk to, but that was better than being with Obek all night. He could be silent for weeks on end then say something disturbing about politics, the Council, war, or Shirkatitsa. Nishet--the spy-- had been better company. Alone was just fine with Kahrae. 

There was one other sound. A muffled thudding sound coming from around the corner of the far end of his corridor. There was a pattern to it which told him it wasn't an animal. He decided to check it out. It got louder as he neared the end of the corridor, and he realized it was coming from inside one of the isolation cells. They were soundproofed. To still hear it out here meant it had to be very loud inside. Why would they do that to an animal? He stepped closer and put his face up to the glass in the door to see what animal it was. 

But it wasn't. He was a strange creature with pale skin and a mop of dark hair on its head. His head. He looked up and Kahrae realized he was looking at the alien. Samwize Gamgee. He looked away. 

He wasn't even supposed to know about the alien. He was not supposed to leave his corridor. He quickly returned to his post. At least he could tell Baezhu he'd seen him in the morning. And he hoped no one else would find out. 

* * *

Hoshi collapsed onto the floor beside Pipa. Finally it was quiet. The orcs were at Malcolm again. This time blaring Morse code at him incessantly. At first, it had shocked her to hear the SOS. They had somehow picked up on it when they had first crashed here so many months ago. Was it a year yet? Longer? Still, she couldn't think how they might grasp its meaning. It didn't even spell anything, and there was nothing to tie the dots and dashes to specific letters in the alphabets--the real English one or the one she had made up. 

She'd heard it because Malcolm couldn't block it out. He could barely hear her over it, and she was in his head, not his ears. They'd tried working the console to cancel out what his ears were receiving and leave only what hers were hearing. He could only hold that, though, for a few minutes. The pounding SOS came loudly and did not stop. 

It disturbed her work, too, though she tried not to show it. It kept her on edge. But finally, as night fell and her chores were done, it stopped. Malcolm said they'd turned it off for the night. 

And she knew he was lying. She didn't call him on it. It had begun to snow the last few days, which made her work harder and more physical. She was exhausted. She needed sleep. But she sincerely hoped she was wrong, and that he would get some, too. 

* * *

"You saw him?" Baezhu was shocked and somewhat relieved. Even though he wouldn't involve his friend, he felt less alone for some reason. 

"Yes," Kahrae answered. "We'll see if I'm still alive tomorrow. If I'm not at breakfast, you'll know why." 

Baezhu wanted to reassure him. "You know, I don't think anyone monitors that camera outside his door unless there's an incident. Besides, you can say you were investigating a suspicious sound." 

"And saw something I'm not supposed to know exists," Kahrae added. "I'm sure that will go over well." 

Baezhu couldn't really argue with that. "So what did you think?" 

"He's ugly." 

Baezhu nearly choked on his drink. He hadn't expected that. "What?!" 

"He's skinny and hairless, except for his head. His face is nearly flat, and his skin is pale and squishy-looking. I can't even imagine a female like him." 

Baezhu laughed. The description fit, mostly. "I guess I'm just accustomed to him after all this time." 

When he got to the lab, he tried to act casual. "Anything eventful last night?" he asked Dr. Burha who was getting ready to leave. 

Dr. Burha put something in his hand. "Not unless you count the finished quota slots for Turn eventful. Congratulations. Try not to mention it around Hinath. He's going to be very disappointed." 

Baezhu looked at the two chips in his hand. Two slots, just like Kahrae. His first Turn as an adult. He hadn't let himself think too much about it. He was going to be a father. He was going to mate. 

Dr. Burha patted him on the shoulder. "I was speechless my first time, too. See you tomorrow." He left to pass the other chips out. 

Baezhu managed to get his thoughts together enough to get the chips into his pocket. He flipped on the monitor with the feed from Samwize's room. The blaring signal jerked him back to full awareness. Samwize couldn't have had a comfortable night with that. 

* * *

Enesh and Besta hurried through the tunnel to the Director's office. A call from the President--even one you didn't vote for--was a big deal. The winter was getting colder. It was even chilly in the tunnels, but the two scientists pushed through the stiffness growing in their muscles to lessen the President's wait. 

"They are here, President Gudai," Director Goti said as soon as they entered. 

The President's voice came from a speaker on the Director's desk. "Doctors, I'm glad you could come. What news is there of our female's counterpart in Zheiren?" 

"They are getting him to speak," Besta answered. "Though no one has worked out much of what he's said." 

"Dr. Enesh, is it true the Raptors are next in line for the head of the Council after Turn?" 

"Yes, sir," Enesh said, finally forced by politeness to speak. He would rather have let Besta be their spokesman. "They are increasing their power even now. The Wingeds are having to compromise their scientific standards." 

"How so?" Gudai asked. 

Besta answered, letting Enesh off the hook for now. "Sleep deprivation now. Major Zhenah is involved and even their linguist is getting frustrated. The male is outclassing him, speaking multiple languages. There's no way to know which is his native tongue." 

"So they're applying pressure." It wasn't a question. "Do you feel this will lead to further compromises of scientific standards? Will they torture him?" 

"They might," Enesh replied. He remembered Zhenah's threats vividly and knew of the rumors of torture applied to dissidents. "They probably will." 

"As they would have enjoyed doing with either of you if they'd had the chance, yes?" 

So the new President remembered that Besta had been born in Zheiren, too. "Yes," they answered together. 

"And what progress have you had in cloning the male?" 

Besta stood up straighter, though, of course, the President couldn't see it. "She's carrying a fetus now. We have no real point of reference for their fetal development, but we see no obvious reasons to abort at this time." 

"I see. I've been speaking to your director about a remodeling project. He informs me that your facility has adequate space." 

Enesh was confused but also quite curious. "For what, sir?" 

"That's not to be said over these channels. But you two will be central to it. Your director will fill you in. Good speaking to you." 

"And you," Besta replied. The line clicked off. 

"I received a secure letter this morning," the Director said. "What I'm about to say here will not leave this room." 

"Understood, Director," Besta answered. Enesh nodded his agreement. 

"We're going to get the male." The Director did not sound pleased. "Our President thinks we can have better luck with him and a different approach." 

Enesh was quite pleased, though. "When? How?" 

"War," Goti replied. "Zheiren's already making plans for Shirkatitsa. We're going to force the issue. And while we are engaged there, a special mission force will go to Kennesitai and get him. Given your knowledge of the layout, Dr. Enesh, you'll likely be on that mission." 

Enesh's excitement at the prospect of acquiring the male evaporated at the prospect of certain war, and his own return to Zheiren. "And the new approach?" He managed to ask, hiding his trepidation. 

"We're going to let him live here," Goti said. "He'll set up house and we'll make friends. We'll even let him have the female. The contrast in his treatment might persuade him to be more forthcoming. He may even provide us with advanced technology." 

"The remodeling? Where will he live?" Besta asked. 

"There is an empty apartment below yours." The Director stood. "We'll have to outfit it with appropriate furniture and utilities. And hidden cameras providing views from every angle of every room. We'll see and hear everything he does." 


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: Typed this one by hand and sent it through spell-checker. Hope that Pesterfield has less to find. ;-) My hopes were dashed. Still found a lot. So I've fixed a lot. FF.net is having trouble uploading this file though. So I've had to upload chapter 23 again and then copy and past this into that file before adding or replacing this chapter. That might be the reason for funky spacing after italics. The source documents have the correct spacing. My web site (same HTML code...just different header and footer info) shows the correct spacing. So if you see spacing errors, well, pretend they're not there. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"Do we know anything from the design of their sky ship?" Besta asked as they stood in the empty apartment. 

"Nothing," Enesh replied. "Only the smallest of pieces were left. But I think we can infer some things from their behavior. The way they sat on their beds. Their chairs would be very different from ours. They sit backwards. They lean back onto a wall when one is there." He pulled out a pad of paper and drew a simple design. It had three-dimensions. A square made the base of it, with a leg coming down from each corner, and a flat rectangle reached up one side. "Maybe something like this." 

Besta looked it over. "How odd! But then, I have seen the female lean back on a wall." 

"They looked at our toilets rather askance, too." Enesh flipped the page. "Maybe they use something more like the chair but with a hole and basin for the plumbing." He drew the same square but added a circle to the middle of it. There were no legs this time, but a box to hold the basin. The flat rectangle became thicker to hold the water supply. 

Besta shook his head. "It might be difficult to get custom plumbing to work. They have worked out how to use ours, right?" 

Enesh crossed out the second drawing. "True. They also manage with our flat beds. So a bed won't be a problem. Clothing might be. We haven't given them much to wear. They still have their uniforms, though." 

"Perhaps our team can get them back." Besta said, nudging him lightly. "That might win us some favor." 

Enesh sighed at the nudge. "You can speak the language. Why don't you go instead?" 

Besta turned to give him his full attention. "You know the facility. I don't. Enesh, you'll be with Special Forces. They'll bring you and the male back." 

Enesh looked away. "I never want to go back. Not for anything. And this won't be as easy as the President thinks. It's Kennisitai! It's their most important secret laboratory since the aliens were found. There's a garrison there!" 

"Their best soldiers will be at war, or at the border," Besta argued. "Lesser Raptors and old men will be posted to guard internal installations. They've always done it that way." 

Enesh didn't feel any better. He was finally free here in Buftanis. He was happy here. Zheiren was full of threats and bad memories. He never wanted to see it again. 

Besta put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it now. It could be months from now. Let's just imagine some more furniture. They'll need a place to eat. A table at the right height for your chairs, perhaps." 

* * *

Malcolm wondered if they were testing the limits of his sanity. He was tired but every time he began to nod off, SOS would blare again. It practically rang in his skull. It was maddening. And for the first time in months, he was truly, utterly alone. He had to power down the console altogether to cut Hoshi out. One of them could get some sleep that way. He couldn't shut his own ears off that way though. 

He hated to think how alone Hoshi must feel. She'd be worried. He didn't want to bombard her with this, so he left her out. He couldn't tell her why without subjecting her to this basic form of torture. Sleep deprivation was nothing new or novel. 

The heat lamps had been on when he cut the power. They were on again. So the blaring SOS was going on for two days at this point. Would they continue to three? Would they risk four or five? People had been known to go mad from lack of sleep. Was he more valuable to them sane or insane? Insane, he might talk more in his native true language. But would he say anything that made any sense? 

A few hours later, the heat lamps shut off. A few more after that and the SOS fell silent. Malcolm's head still throbbed with it, but he felt so relieved he didn't mind. He collapsed over on the bed exhausted. He was so tired that he left the console dark and went to sleep. 

* * *

Dr. Bishtae managed to keep his tone rather diplomatic, Baezhu thought. "He'll certainly be off-balance when we wake him up. But what do you plan to ask him that will be of any value?" 

Major Zhenah also managed to keep an even tone. "It can explain the words. It can use hand signs or drawings, but it must explain them. Which is its home planet? Which is his ship? What do the others mean?" 

Baezhu kept his mouth shut, especially when Major Zhenah was around. It wasn't a Lesser's place to interfere. Still, he thought Zhenah had a point. One Samwize wouldn't appreciate. 

"Well, I don't see the scientific point of the method." Burha always was more hot-heated than Bishtae. But then he was used to arguing with Raptors in front of the Council. Kennisitai was far less formal by comparison. 

"You can find out if it can breathe under water," Zhenah replied. 

Baezhu knew that was ridiculous. It was just an excuse. 

"We already know from his biology that he does not," Burha shot back. 

"Why?" Zhenah asked. "Because it has no gills? Neither do many amphibians. Neither do mammals that live in the oceans. Maybe it can hold its breath for three hours like the _katura_." 

Bishtae held up a hand to dissuade Burha. "He doesn't have the lung capacity or a mechanism to completely block his airway. Stop bothering with pretense, Major. We're all intelligent enough to know what's going on." He put a hand on Baezhu's shoulder to indicate his inclusion. Baezhu appreciated that. 

Zhenah stood up straighter and looked Bishtae right in the eye for a long moment. "Then let's get started." 

* * *

Malcolm opened his eyes just in time to see three out-stretched fingers reaching for him. There were more hands than that one and they grabbed him hard. He was still too tired to think. Had they fed him yesterday? Were they going to cut him open again? Three orcs held him to the bed. 

Malcolm didn't move. But the one at his arm did, and Malcolm was able to see something they must have brought into the room while he slept. It was at least as long as he was and about a meter deep. There was water on the floor beside it. 

He started to shake, and the hands gripped him harder. His chest pounded until he felt his ribs would break. They started to lift him from the bed. 

He kicked as hard as he could and the sudden movement shook one of the bullies off of him. He managed to get an arm free and pounded the nearest orc in the gut. He lost his grip, but the other regained his on Malcolm's leg. They were pulling him off the bed. 

Malcolm tried to hold on to something but the bed was soldered to the wall. There was nothing to grip. The near one grabbed his arm again, and Malcolm did the one thing he could and bit the orc's finger until he tasted blood. The orc screamed and let go. 

But then the T-Rex spoke. He pushed the orc out of the way and grabbed Malcolm by the throat. His long fingers wrapped all the way around and squeezed. Malcolm clawed at the hand that choked him but it just squeezed harder. The T-Rex leaned in to his face and growled. Malcolm felt light-headed. He couldn't get any air. He felt blood trickle down his neck. 

T-Rex used his other arm to take hold of Malcolm's leg. Then he heaved Malcolm toward the tank. 

Air rushed back into Malcolm's lungs just as he slammed sideways into the hard metal of the tank. He tried to get up, to run, to fight, to get anywhere else, but his bare feet slipped in the water on the floor. T-Rex came at him again. He lifted Malcolm up and dropped him into the tank. 

" _Tis ank kor!_ " 

Malcolm reached for the sides. " _Hoshi!_ " he screamed. Bubbles escaped his mouth so he must have said it out loud. But they didn't hear it as his face was still under the ice cold water. The three orcs were back. They pushed him down. The water squeezed him, looking for a way in. _Hoshi!_ He kept his mouth clamped shut. 

Nothing. The console! It was dark. His reeling mind tried to visualize it, to turn it back on, but the pain in his chest was too distracting. The air wanted out. The water wanted in. The orcs faces turned fuzzy, became the faces of the boys long ago. 

He turned and thrashed, trying to throw off the bullies that were holding him down. They laughed at him. " _Where are your gills, Fishboy?_ " 

He managed to grip one side of the tank, but something sharp slashed across his fingers and filled them with pain. There was red in the water. From his neck. From his fingers. The blood was slick and he lost his hold. He was pushed to the bottom. He could feel the floor on his back. 

The air filled his head, pushing for a way out. His jaws hurt as he strained to keep them closed tight. _Not this way,_ he pleaded to anyone who could hear his thoughts. He tried one more time to see the console. He needed Hoshi to know. He could just make out the power switch. It lit up but grew dark. His limbs spasmed but he had lost the strength to fight. To hold the air in. Malcolm Reed drowned for the second time in his life. 

* * *

Hoshi dreamed she was in a pool. At the bottom of the pool. She gasped for air and woke up. It was still night. Pipa was asleep beside her and the room was quiet. She remembered the pool from her dream. She could breathe now. 

Malcolm! It was him. She closed her eyes and tried to hear him, or see through him, or hear through him. _Malcolm? Are you alright?_

She waited for a response, any response. Just like all the other times she'd tried since the night the SOS started. No, it was different now. She'd felt him. She was sure of it. 

_Malcolm!_

* * *

"Up," was all Zhenah said. 

Baezhu had to try hard to hide his horror and anger. Samwize had fought like that before for the semen collection. He'd kicked him hard enough and sudden enough to cause him to release his leg. But Baezhu could tell that this time, it was out of sheer terror. 

He helped the doctors to lift Samwyze's limp body from the water. Almost instantly he grew rigid and gasped for air. Life flooded back into him as he coughed up the water and took in the air. 

"Down again," the major ordered. 

Baezhu hated that the doctors had to obey the Raptor's orders. They pushed Samwize down again. He didn't fight as long this time. He thrashed and pawed at them, but he didn't have the strength to loosen their grip. Finally, his body went slack, and Baezhu waited for the order to pull him up. Air bubbles rose from Samwyze's nose and mouth as his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Burha spoke up. "He can't say anything if he's dead, Zhenah! He doesn't breathe underwater!" 

Zhenah just stared at him for another few seconds. Then he nodded. 

This time, Samwize did not become rigid or gasp for air. He remained limp, unconscious. Dr. Burha and Dr. Bishtae pulled him all the way out of the tank and laid him flat on his back. Bishtae began compressions on Samwize's chest. Baezhu counted the seconds, hoping with each one that Samwize would revive. Fifteen seconds in, he did. He half-coughed and half-vomited the water as Burha turned him on his side. He kept coughing for another dozen seconds or so. 

"Dr. Kenu," Zhenah called. 

Kenu stood still at the door, his beak open as he watched. When Zhenah said his name, he started, then brought out the cards again. He put them on the floor in front of Samwize, making sure they were clear of the water. 

But Samwize surprised them all. He suddenly got up to his hands and knees and threw himself under the bed. He withdrew into the corner farthest from them all and tucked himself into a ball, with his arms wrapped around his knees. He put his head down and shivered. 

"I think you went too far, Major," Bishtae stated, as he stood up. "He's not off-balance. He's thoroughly traumatized. He may never talk again." 

* * *

Hoshi heard those words and hoped that orc, Saruman, could persuade Lurtz--her new codename for the one they called Zhenah--to leave Malcolm alone. They'd used his deepest fear against him. 

_Malcolm?_ she tried again, gently. He hadn't answered her yet. It had been several minutes before anything came to her since the dream, and it had taken a few more to piece it together. 

The water in the dream. Being at the bottom of the pool. The silence as he had lost consciousness, then the coughing and wheezing when he got it back. He must have opened Audio II for her to hear what he heard but he may have left Audio I off or he just wasn't able to think. 

Kennoo wasn't ready to give up, it seemed. "Sharu," he said. She heard a thump and realized he'd thumped his own chest. 

Then all the hair on Hoshi's arms and legs stood on end as she heard Malcolm whimper. She felt his fear. He was terrified. 

"He isn't looking, Kenu," one of the orcs said. "He needs time to calm down." 

Hoshi heard a growl. Then a voice of authority. "Everyone out!" 

The growl grew louder. Then, "You Raptors don't lead the Council yet, Zhenah. Some animals die from stress, you know. Maybe he can. Let him calm down and maybe then you can get something out of him." 

Another growl, then, "Leave the tank." She heard footsteps and then the closing of the door. They were alone. 

_Malcolm,_ she tried again. _They've gone. It's alright now. Talk to me._

The only sound was his ragged breath. 

She wished that--No, she'd tell him, not just wish it. _I wish I could be there for you, to hold you until you were stronger, to wipe the water from your face. To tell you face to face that I love you._

"Hoshi," he sobbed. It was so faint she almost missed it. She was just so glad he'd responded. 

She asked no more of him. _Why don't I tell you a story?_ she said, as she turned back over. She told him about her grandmother's garden again and about her graduation and why she'd chosen Starfleet. 

Somewhere in there, the line was broken and she hoped it meant he was sleeping. 

* * *

Baezhu was still troubled by what he'd seen the day before. When he'd left, Samwize was still under the bed. He'd fallen asleep tucked into as tight a ball as he could manage under there. "It was as bad as the semen collection," he told Kahrae. "Maybe worse. He was in complete panic, absolute flight-or-fight. It didn't make him talk. It made him close up completely." 

Kahrae sat down his food and sighed. "I'm starting to worry about you." 

That got Baezhu's attention. "Me?" 

"You're too close to him," Kahrae explained. "This close to Turn, you should know things won't get easier for him. The Raptors are taking control at a time when our testosterone is soaring. Yours should be, too, by the way." 

Baezhu growled lightly. "It's biology, so, of course, mine is. But we don't have to be ruled by our hormones." 

Kahrae laughed. "Actually, we do. We only get this for a few days every three years. Those hormones are trying to ensure the survival of our species!" 

It was ironic that Kahrae was giving him a mini-lecture in biology, for a change. "Two weeks," he managed, and he knew it was lame. "We get a whole two weeks." 

"Good! You could use the time off!" He picked up his food again. "Look, all he has to do is survive until Turn begins in less than a week. Then he gets two weeks off, too. Most of the Major's testosterone will have spent itself, and, in all likelihood, the remainder will be redirected toward Shirkatitsa." He said the last part in an even quieter voice than their usual whisper when speaking about Samwize. 

"Obek?" Baezhu asked his friend. 

Kahrae slid the newspaper over to him. "That and the anti-Shirkatitsan propaganda. Things are heating up." 

* * *

The new president was on the TV. With Turn coming, the protests in Shirkatitsa were building. More and more people filled the streets. Their images were all over the news. President Gudai was just finishing his speech in response to the rumors that Zheiren would put down the protests forcefully. "We will defend our economic interests in Shirkatitsa. And we will support the Shirkatitsan desire for freedom." 

"Of course Zheiren will put it down," Enesh said, standing up and walking away. "With Ussa in charge of the Council and Turn turning them all into hot-heads." 

"Gudai is counting on it," Besta replied. "It will keep them from noticing our little raid." 

Enesh shook his head. "But that's not what he said. He said we'd defend our interests and support their desire for freedom. I'm not enthusiastic about going on the raid but I'm less enthusiastic about open war with Zheiren." 

Besta picked up his things to leave. "Let's just hope it was the hormones talking. Either way, worrying about it will do no good. Let's not let the threat of war dampen our enthusiasm for the coming Turn." 

Enesh laughed. "Nothing could. It's only once every three years. Two weeks of debauchery and procreation. What's war compared to that?" 

* * *

Samwize had not come out from under the bed. Zhenah had found his weakness the day before. That was certain. But was it personal or a characterization of his species? If they still had the female, they could have found out. Baezhu didn't really care anymore. He hated seeing Samwize reduced to the level of a cornered animal. 

And today wasn't going to be any better. 

"He's been toying with us," Kenu said. 

"We are scientists, Kenu," Dr. Bishtae attempted to reason with him. "What happened yesterday wasn't science. It was cruelty and deliberate cruelty is something Raptors practice. Not us." 

Kenu couldn't turn around to face him. He kept staring at the monitor. "Well, the Raptors are in charge now. Besides, I want answers, too. Straight answers, not twelve different languages. He's been deliberately withholding information from us since he came." 

"He crashed here," Burha reminded him. "He didn't come here by choice. And he's only acting in his own self-interest, which proves his sentience all the more. Torture does not become a Winged!" 

Kenu rubbed his eyes and kept his voice low. "It's _not_ torture. It's just more aggressive science." 

"That is torture, when applied to a sentient being, Kenu." Bishtae changed tactics. "What he has been doing, withholding, has not been a personal attack against you. But you seem to be taking this all very personally." 

"Someone could still be coming for him!" Kenu stood up to face them. "They sent a signal in the desert. The one we blasted in his ears. What does it mean? How long does it take one of their ships to come from his planet? Wait! We don't know because he hasn't told us where his planet is or how fast their ships go. We don't even know the name of his planet. Or his ship. We don't even know what frequency they used to broadcast or how long that signal would take before reaching their planet. We _need_ to know these things." 

"And we need to know their weaknesses so we can fight them if they do come." Major Zhenah surprised them all again by showing up in the doorway. "Which bone then, do you feel is the strongest?" 

"The one in the thigh," Bishtae answered. "And breaking it will give you no tactical advantage." 

"No?" Zhenah took another step into the room. "Can we assume his ribcage or his skull is not as strong?" 

Bishtae took a deep breath. "Yes." 

Baezhu did not like where this was going. He really didn't like Major Zhenah at all. 

"Then the force required to break the thigh bone will be more than enough to break through his ribcage or crack his skull. Tactical advantage. Very useful information. And maybe, he can be coerced to share information along the way." Baezhu really hated that he had to participate. He wanted Samwize to trust him. How could he after what happened yesterday and what was going to happen today? 

* * *

"Let's take a walk," Besta suggested. He'd shown up at Enesh's door a few hours into the night. He was dressed and carrying a clipboard and a pen. "Put some clothes on. Turn begins in just over four days. Let's go have a preview of our prospects." 

That came as a shock to Enesh who was not fully awake. "We can do that?" 

"Yes, and if they're not already reserved by someone else, we can reserve them with their guards." They stepped down into one of the tunnels that led to the barracks. "There's no point looking at the infertile ones. They'd be dangerous to try and mate with. They tend to take such attempts as an attack. The others, though, are getting as anxious as we are." 

Five days. When Enesh was younger, he'd wondered why they had to wait to do this on the day Turn started. But since he'd studied biology, he'd learned that the females ovulated only once every three years and the males' testosterone increased in response. The hormones in both genders peaked at the start of Turn, and the female would not be ready to produce an egg until that peak. So even so close--just five days--they still had to wait. But this wasn't his first Turn. He knew the waiting would be worth it. His hormone levels were still rising. When the time came, he'd barely be able to concentrate. 

The thing that made all the logistics of Turn work was that while the Raptors' and Wingeds' hormones were on the same schedule, the Monitors' were not. so they organized everything for the Raptors and Wingeds and the Wingeds organized it all for them two weeks later. The Monitors in Zheiren even took over the government during Turn. Enesh wasn't sure what they did in Buftanis, though they did comprise a majority of the civil servants. 

They reached the Winged barracks that held the females who were not given birth control medications. A young man there greeted them. "Good evening, gentleman. Come to temp the ladies?" 

"Won't they be tempting us?" Besta asked in reply. Both men laughed. The females, Enesh could see, were, in fact, gyrating in hormonal overload. 

"This guy's new, right?" the guard asked, pointing to Enesh. 

Enesh bobbed his head. "I understand you do things a bit differently than in Zheiren." 

"As I understand it, though I've never been there," the guard replied. "Mark down your top six, and I'll save them for you if you want six of these. Because we can't have you making six viable eggs, anyone under your top two will be given a drug after to negate a pregnancy. We don't have male children here, so any male offspring will be fostered offsite and eventually adopted." 

Enesh had not realized the latter point but it was true. There was no male family. Still, he'd left two sons in Zheiren when he committed treason and had hardly given them a second thought. He wasn't a very good father, it seemed. But he was a good biologist. Someone else could raise his children. Or maybe he'd have all females. "I'm fine with that," he said. He turned again to look at the writhing females. 

* * *

Baezhu felt sick to his stomach. Samwize had still been so scared that he and Hinath had had to drag him out from under the bed. He'd fought them nearly as much as when Zhenah had them put him under the water. The doctors had had to help to get him on the bed and to strap him down so he couldn't move. 

More than at any other time, Samwize looked like an animal, a caged or cornered one, injured and wild, but helpless against his captors. Baezhu hated being part of reducing him to that. He wanted to shout that they should stop, that this was wrong. He wanted to stop Zhenah--or kill Zhenah. He was surprised by the intensity of that feeling. He'd never felt so aggressive. 

But he was still in control of himself. Zhenah had the same hormones and more weapons: great claws and a mouth full of sharp teeth. There was a reason Raptors were the military. Zhenah could kill him faster than he could draw blood. And even if he didn't, to attack Zhenah, or even to speak out of turn, would be treason. And in that, he'd have no friends. He'd die having accomplished nothing. 

So he stood by, with Dr. Bishtae, ready to render aid as soon as the bone broke. 

There were force meters both on the top of the thigh and also below it. Zhenah began with his bare fist. He grunted with the effort as he flung his fist onto the top sensor. Samwize stiffened. It was painful, but there was no break. Some of Samwize's stubbornness was back. He glared at Zhenah. Baezhu was glad to see that, but he also knew this wasn't about to end. Hinath dutifully recorded the force measured on both meters. 

Kenu approached the bed. He had a picture. Baezhu recognized it as a patch from the aliens' clothing. He pointed to the picture and said, " _Aldastsufra_?" 

Samwize didn't answer. Kenu probably blocked his view of Zhenah who now had a wooden truncheon. Zhenah brought it down with one hand. Samwize cried out, but there were no words in it. 

Hinath took the readings and Kenu asked again. " _Aldastsufra_?" 

This time, Zhenah used two hands and Samwize screamed when the truncheon hit. " _Aldastsufra,_ " he gasped. 

Kenu threw that picture down. Hinath took the readings. Zhenah had a gun. An assault rifle. Baezhu recognized it as the kind that Kahrae carried on duty. 

Kenu held another picture. The other patch. This one had a planet on it. " _Frdoskgamwyd_?" 

* * *

Malcolm didn't want to answer. He didn't want to be there. He wanted to crawl into some hole and never come out again. He'd been lost in the terror of the drowning, the flashbacks from when he was twelve, only the bullies were dinosaurs and he was never saved. He was still with them, and they weren't even trying to anesthetize him this time. This wasn't some experiment. Each blow came harder and one of them had a clipboard, so they were making a show of it. But this was torture and Malcolm's frenzied mind couldn't find a way out. 

They'd made up these words, though, so he didn't hesitate much. " _Aosdeh,_ " he corrected, hoping the next, harder blow wouldn't come. 

But it did, and the pain of it overwhelmed him completely. He felt the pressure and the crack as his thigh sent waves of excruciating fire radiating up his thigh and down to his feet. He screamed and struggled against the restraints. 

The orc was saying something else, but Malcolm couldn't hear him. He could barely see through the pain. The T-Rex waved the other orcs back. Considering he was holding a gun, they stayed back. He let go with one hand and gripped Malcolm's thigh with his long, clawed fingers. 

Another scream ripped itself from Malcolm's throat and his body spasmed with the pain. It took his breath away, and he couldn't find a moment's relief to get it back. The T-Rex spoke in a growl. Malcolm almost wanted to understand. Maybe then he could answer and the pain would stop. But he didn't understand. 

_Frodo!_ he screamed in his mind. He hoped he wasn't screaming it out loud but he just couldn't tell. 

* * *

Hoshi woke with a start. Something seemed so wrong that she was fully awake in an instant. _Sam?_

He didn't answer her directly, but instantly she saw a vision in her mind. A Winged stood near with cards in his hands. The linguist. But there was also the T-Rex, Zhenah. He had a grip on Malcolm's thigh. "Answer the question!" he growled. 

Hoshi's eyes began to tear up. So they were torturing him after all. _Your leg?_

"Broke," was all he could manage. She could work out the rest. Zhenah held him at the fracture. 

_Talk. It doesn't matter what they asked. They won't understand anyway. Repeat after me._ Anglo-Saxon was a precursor to the British English Malcolm Reed spoke naturally. He could repeat it and it might seem similar to those words they'd invented. 

The Ring of Sauron had to be destroyed. The nine walkers were named and their journey laid out. Across the Misty Mountains, through Lothlorian, down the Anduin, through Emyn Muil, through the Dead Marshes and the Morgul Vale into Mordor itself. She told of the wargs they had to fight off, the bird spies of Saruman, the failure at Caradhras. The choice of Moria. 

She ignored the questions and patiently laid out the phrases. She cut the video because she couldn't bear to watch. It was hard enough hearing his screams. 

* * *

He was talking. They'd accomplished that. Without drugs, but not without the cruelty Dr. Bishtae told him scientists don't resort to. 

Kenu was mumbling to himself. "It might be the same. A handful of words can't tell us enough of the grammar." 

It was pointless and Baezhu was sickened and horrified. 

Zhenah didn't let go. He kept asking the same question. How far is Aosdeh? Samwize kept gasping words or phrases or sentences. And the major encouraged him by twisting his hands on the broken leg, or hitting him with the truncheon on other parts of his body. 

"You got what you wanted!" Bishtae shouted. "It broke. Let him be. We need to treat him." 

"Stay out of this!" Zhenah warned. He punctuated his command with a blow to Samwize's chest. There was another crack followed by a raspy scream. 

"Major!" Burha tried. "He didn't even understand the question but he's talking. He's trying to give you what you want to hear. That's the only thing torture ever gets you!" 

"I don't want what I want to hear!" Zhenah screamed. He was wild with fury. Baezhu could feel it, too, only his fury was aimed at the Raptor. He still had enough sense though, to not challenge him. Zhenah was a Greater Raptor and he was a Lesser Winged. He didn't have a chance. The doctors were the same size, at least, but Zhenah was not intimidated. "I want the truth!" 

But the blow that struck with that pronouncement stopped the screaming and the babbling altogether. Samwize coughed up blood and his eyes rolled back into his head. It shocked Zhenah enough that he dropped the truncheon and backed away. 

Bishtae and Burha rushed forward. Baezhu went with them, ready to do whatever they needed. Samwize gasped for air. Bishtae ripped the cotton shift Samwize wore to expose his chest. It was discolored already and there was a concave indentation near the clavicle on the left side. 

"Hinath!" Burha called. "Gurney!" Hinath left to obey. 

"Release him," Bishtae ordered. Baezhu hurried to undo the restraints. He hated that Bishtae had let this happen but trusted that doctor especially to save Samwize's life. 

* * *

The orcs had asserted themselves. Hoshi took a deep breath as her connection with Malcolm failed. It had lasted for a little while after that final blow. She'd turned the video back on to see Saruman and Sméagol rushing over. 

She brushed the tears from her eyes and vowed to herself to wait a week. If they held to pattern, he'd be unconscious for a week following surgery--and she had no doubt he needed surgery. She would wait that long, and if she didn't hear from him then, she'd know. She'd know that he was dead. 


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note: Typed this one by hand and sent it through spell-checker. Hope that Pesterfield has less to find. ;-) Trouble uploading again. Had to go try and work my way around it. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"Samwize? Do you hear me?" Baezhu's heart was still pounding, but he'd definitely gone too far to back out now. He'd already committed a crime and, given the secrecy around the aliens, one likely punishable by death. 

The alien's eyelids fluttered. 

"It's Baezhu. I won't hurt you." 

They were in a quiet room in a quiet corridor. The only sounds in the whole place were the machine providing nutrients and medication to Samwize and the animals in the other corridors. And one guard who wouldn't come this way for another hour. 

Samwize opened his eyes. They closed again and then snapped open. Baezhu wasn't sure if he read anger or fear in those eyes. At the moment, his eyes were all Samwize could move. 

Baezhu held up his hand and the device he'd taken from the secure laboratory. "I want to help you." 

* * *

Turn had begun three days ago, and Baezhu had made the hardest decision of his young life. Samwize had been rushed to surgery and put back together, but the decision was made that it was safer to keep him in a medically-induced coma until Turn was over and everyone could think straighter. Zhenah had had the sense not to argue too strongly. He left the room. Kenu, on the other hand, was beside himself. 

"I didn't mean for that to happen," he pleaded. 

"You should have known he'd be too aggressive," Dr. Bishtae argued. "Even you were. It's at this time we have to discipline ourselves all the more. You lost control." 

Kenu sat and dropped his head. "I just wanted answers. You have your experiments and exploratory surgeries. I only have words. I'm a linguist. I need something to work with." 

"Linguists aren't inquisitors, Kenu," Burha snapped. "They're scientists. They study. They do not torture." 

"But he was trying to trick me!" Kenu argued. "Thirteen distinct languages at least! And then the signal. Zhenah and Kaife had called me in to help. What help? It was like another language. Probably a code." 

Bishtae stepped closer. "Kaife is here? At Kennisitai?" 

"C Wing, secure lab," Kenu replied. "He's in charge of studying the alien technology from the desert. I shouldn't say any more." 

"No," Bishtae agreed, "you shouldn't. Keep your work with Kaife there. You shouldn't have brought it here at all. Breach of security." 

C Wing, device, alien technology. Signal. A communications device. Baezhu had worked it out that night. An alien communications device was in the secure lab in C Wing. Kenu had said the aliens had sent a signal in the desert. They had crashed so maybe they had tried calling for help. It had been months since then, but maybe someone could still help if they could call again. Samwize didn't have a future under the Raptors, and Baezhu hated the idea of having to participate in his torture again. 

The next day, the day before Turn, Baezhu had taken the dejected Hinath aside to speak in private. Hinath had no chips, so he had been chosen to stay the two weeks in the facility to watch over the alien's unconscious form and to tend the animals. Baezhu offered to take his place, provided Hinath told no one. Hinath, with the offer of relief from his own surging hormones and desires, readily agreed. They were the last two to leave the facility for the night. Baezhu stayed and Hinath went. 

The one person he couldn't hide from was Kahrae. Being a guard, Kahrae did have to guard a few nights during Turn. He was on rotation. The other guards wouldn't know which Winged had been assigned to stay behind, but Kahrae knew Baezhu had made the quota. Baezhu found him in the corridor the second night of Turn. 

"Baezhu?" Kahrae had been shocked to see him. "What are you doing here? Are you rotating, too?" 

"Yes," Baezhu lied. It hurt to do it but he couldn't implicate his friend by telling him the truth. "Hinath will be in next week." 

Kahrae shook his head. "That must be frustrating!" 

Baezhu let his eyes go wide. He didn't have to lie about that. "You have no idea!" 

"Well just hold out. You'll get your chance." 

"What about you?" Baezhu asked. 

"I got them both the same day." Kahrae sounded just a bit guilty. "I couldn't wait for the second. Now I'm all out of chips, but at least I get to rest most of the holidays." 

Baezhu smiled. "I'll probably do the same when my turn comes. It'll be nice to just rest for a few days. Are you the only guard around here?" 

Kahrae shook his head. "The only one inside. There are still two at every exit. It's a good thing I got inside rotation before Turn. I only have to work two days. The poor guys outside have to work six." 

Baezhu bobbed his head. "Lucky!" 

Kahrae had to continue his rounds. He patted Baezhu on the back for encouragement then set off. Baezhu made a show of checking on Samwize, but when Kahrae was far enough away, Baezhu followed him. He stayed one corridor back at each turn and kept following until he arrived back at Samwize's room an hour and a half later. Kahrae was just looking in the window. 

"I still think he's ugly," he commented. 

"He probably thinks the same of you," Baezhu had quipped. And when Kahrae asked where he'd been, he said he'd just come from the toilet down the hall. "It's nicer. Besides, I don't want to go in front of him, coma or not!" 

The next night, he had timed the guard on his rounds and stole away to C Wing when fifteen minutes had passed since the guard had gone past Samwize's room. He returned with the device and waited for the guard to pass again. Then he slowed the drip of anesthetics so that Samwize would wake up. 

* * *

Malcolm squinted to focus his groggy vision on what Smeagol was holding up. Once he recognized it, the grogginess left him. His breath quickened and he realized he could move a bit. The drugs were wearing off. 

_Hoshi!_ he called out in his mind. He needed her. 

"Malcolm! How are you? Are they hurting you again?" 

_Look,_ he told her. He flipped the video switch on the console and she gasped. 

"The communicator!" 

Smeagol spoke and Hoshi translated. "He has to put it back soon. He wants you to use it to call for help." 

_Do you think it's a trap? I don't know that my mind is up to figuring that out. He's just pulled me out._

"Well, he's helped you before. It's their mating time, Malcolm. Everyone seemed to go nuts. Pipa called it a holiday. They don't have to work. I still do. Do you see any of the others, any cameras?" 

Malcolm turned his head to look around. There was a camera but its red light was off. 

Smeagol spoke again. "He says he's probably going to get in a lot of trouble for this, but he couldn't watch you suffer-or participate in it--without at least trying to help you find a way out. The Raptors will be in charge for the next four years. They'll torture you. They'll probably kill you." 

Malcolm reached out for the communicator, and Smeagol let him take it. _Would it do any good?_ Enterprise _can't still be here. Who will hear it?_

"Anyone. It's worth trying. We came for a signal, didn't we? We have to try." 

_Not English, just in case._

"Denobulan then, like the other one. They've been in space longer. They might stand a better chance of being understood than us by a passing ship anyway." 

_Alright. What do we say? 'We are from the Starship_ Enterprise _. We need to be rescued?_

"The first part works. Just repeat after me." 

Malcolm opened the communicator and adjusted the frequency. He got a signal. He could transmit. But would anyone receive? Hoshi started to speak slowly in Denobulan. Malcolm tried to repeat, but his mouth was so dry and it hurt his chest. His voice sounded weak and raspy. She started again and so did he, a little stronger this time. The only word he understood was _Enterprise._ He thought for a moment and turned off Audio II. He could still hear her but she wouldn't be able to hear through his ears. He used his other hand to tap on his chest. Two words in Morse code. 

"That's it," she said. Malcolm didn't repeat that part. He ended his transmission and then closed the communicator. He handed it back to Smeagol. 

Smeagol nodded and took his hand for a moment. He spoke. "He hopes someone hears. He wishes he could have gotten to know you better--as a person--and that you didn't have to fear his people." 

_Help me thank him._

" _Sherisnoda,_ " Hoshi said. 

Malcolm looked Smeagol--Bayzhoo--in the eyes. " _Sherisnoda._ " 

Smeagol's eyes widened and he said something. "He said he'll pretend you never said that. He also says you'll be under for the rest of _Serinta_. I think that's the holidays, the mating. Hopefully no one will ever know about this until someone comes for you." 

_For us,_ he corrected. _If it happens, I'll tell them where to find you._

"I know you will." 

Bayzhoo reached for the machine and Malcolm felt his body tingle. 

_Goodnight, Hoshi. No matter what happens, I want you to know I love you more than life itself._

"I love you, too. More than anything. I'll listen for you after the holidays." 

Malcolm could barely hear the last word. It dissolved into black nothingness and he was out. 

* * *

"Sir," Hoshi called out. "I'm picking up a signal. It's garbled but it doesn't seem to be a distress call." 

Archer stood and came closer to her. "What makes you say that?" 

Hoshi ran her fingers over her console again. "It's not on all frequencies or even a wide band," she stated. "It's on our frequency, like it was sent directly to us. And it doesn't seem to repeat." 

"Let's hear it," Archer ordered. The message played but Archer could barely tell there was a voice at all through all the static. Hoshi Sato, though, had an amazing sense of hearing. 

She shook her head. "I can't make it out, but it almost seems to have a Denobulan inflection." 

Archer took her word for it. "Try and clear it up and see if the doctor can shed any light on it." He turned to T'Pol. "Can we tell where it's coming from?" 

T'Pol looked up from her instruments. "It appears to originate from the fourth planet in the nearest system. About one hundred thousand kilometers out." 

Archer now turned to Tactical. "Mr. Reed, can you read anything on the planet?" 

"Some, sir," Reed said, without looking up from his console. "There's a strong magnetic field that's distorting our scans of the planet itself, but I make out geosynchronous satellites in orbit. There are no ships in orbit of that planet or any other in the system. Nothing on subspace either." 

T'Pol interrupted, "It appears to be inhabited by a prewarp society. There is evidence of surface to air vessels that can reach beyond the atmosphere." 

Archer turned back to Hoshi. "But this signal came in on a subspace frequency?" She nodded. Archer went on. "Well, that's a bit of a mystery, isn't it? It would appear that there's someone down there who doesn't belong. Someone who knows our address. Let's take a look. Mr. Mayweather. Alter course." 

Hoshi reminded him that the doctor was sleeping. "Oh well," he said, "in that case, do your best." 

* * *

Dr. Kaife stirred to the sound of his phone. He resisted. He was pleasantly exhausted from the day's activities. The phone rang again and then stopped. Five minutes later, it rang again. Just twice. At that, Kaife was awake. 

He got out of bed and moved to his computer. He had an automated message from his lab. There was a signal coming in on the device. He got dressed and waited at his table with a glass of water. It was still too cold to go out. 

One hour before he felt he could leave, he called the major. He'd want to know about this breakthrough. Then he called Kenu. They'd need him to try and decipher any message that had come through. 

Zhenah was waiting for him at the lab. He looked vicious. "This had better be worth it." 

"A message from the aliens should be," he responded. The facility seemed eerie that morning. He was not used to being there when so few people were about. 

The lab itself was the exact opposite of the quiet corridors. Several computers had come to life once the signal was received. The device itself didn't move or display anything of note. But there was definitely something coming in. Unfortunately, it wasn't in words but in long and short pulses like the message in the desert. Kaife put a recording device next to it and set it to record. That's when Kenu entered. His eyes widened at the door, then narrowed. "Not that damn code," he complained. 

Kaife motioned Zhenah and Kenu further into the lab where their conversation wouldn't interfere with the recording. "It's not the same as what they sent in the desert," he told them. "It's a response. We need to try and understand what it means." 

"Why now?" Zhenah asked. His impatience was obvious. "They've had months. Why during Turn?" 

"Wait," Kenu interrupted. "It just looped. Can I have paper and pen?" 

Kaife pulled the requested items from his desk. Kenu used them to mark horizontal lines for the longer pulses and vertical ones for the shorter pulses. Kaife left him to it and pulled Zhenah aside. "Should we try to reply?" 

"What?" Zhenah focused hard on him. "Reply? Why would we want to do that?" 

"We could get an idea of where they are," Kaife replied. "It could be that this message is very old, that it was sent when the aliens crashed but took months to get here. That would mean they are very far away. Or they could be close enough to send a message in real time. And that would mean they are very close." 

"And if they are close, is it because they were passing by here?" Zhenah asked. "Or because someone called them?" 

Kaife was glad to see Zhenah thinking more or less clearly. "Still, to do so would be epic. We'd be trying to make contact with potentially hostile aliens. If they are not close, we'd be confirming our existence. If they are close, they'd know we have their people." 

"And that could be bad." Zhenah scratched his chin. "Maybe they're not hostile. The alien here doesn't seem hostile. Maybe we could scare them off." 

"How?" Kaife wasn't so sure Zhenah was thinking clearly after all. He was making some unscientific leaps. 

Zhenah ignored him. "But first we need to know why the call came now. Find out what caused it. I will talk to the Lesser Winged who stayed to care for the alien and the other subjects." 

* * *

Archer had ordered a response be sent to the transmission. In ancient Morse code as the caller had sent part of his message. He had an ulterior motive that T'Pol could appreciate. It was a test to see if they could transmit at all through the interference. With the help of a probe anchored just below the interference band, they could. But there had been no reply. 

T'Pol had been in her lab since she left the Bridge to analyze the data from the probe more fully. The shuttlepod sent to investigate the origin of the subspace message was missing, but she had now come to a hypothesis to explain why. She'd called Trip down to share it. 

T'Pol didn't bother looking up when Trip entered the lab. "Yes, I would like your thoughts on a hypothesis I have been working on. I am attempting to isolate the sensor data on the intermittent radiation burst recorded by the probe." 

"Mind if I take a look?" Trip was right behind her. 

T'Pol stepped away to give him access. "I've isolated the frequency of the wavelength." Trip squinted and shook his head slightly. T'Pol changed the display to show what she theorized was the crash site. "I have increased the sensor resolution," she explained as she zoomed in. "The shuttlepod intersected with the radiation burst and trailed the radiation through the atmosphere. It dissipated as the shuttle descended, but it can still be seen faintly in this area, the projected landing site for the shuttlepod." 

Trip frowned. "There's no shuttlepod." 

"Not now," she replied. She changed the display again. "There is a higher concentration of carbon in the soil at this location . . ." She pointed to a depression in the ground. ". . . than in the area surrounding it. Except in this direction." She pulled her finger from the highest concentration backward along the radiation trail. "It ends here, seventy miles from a native city in the south." 

Trip turned to look at her. "Okay," he said. If she were reading his expression correctly, he was reluctant to reach the conclusion on his own. 

She offered him another piece of evidence. "The radiation trail grows stronger exponentially as it radiates out from the highest concentrations of carbon." 

He turned back to the display. "But the carbon increases as you go toward the depression." He paused a moment and then dropped his head between his shoulders. "You're saying the shuttlepod crashed there." 

"That is my hypothesis," she said. She knew he would not like to hear that. 

"But there's no debris." He pointed to the depression, where, in truth, there was no visible evidence of a crash. 

"There was," she corrected. 

"Was?" He turned to look at her again. "There's another piece you aren't showing me yet." 

T'Pol changed the display back to the radiation burst. "I have seen this before, though in smaller quantities." She picked up her scanner off the counter. "Come with me." 

She led him out of the lab and he followed without comment. She stopped in front of Daniels' quarters and their security seal. She took a scan and then handed the scanner to him. He grew very still but she could see he had recognized it. "Time travel?" 

" _That_ ," she said, "is my hypothesis. These are chronoton particles, for lack of a better term. While the Vulcan Science Academy denies the possibility, I have had to yield my own beliefs to that possibility. I have been to your world in the past. The captain claims to have been to the future. I have been using my free time to study this phenomenon." 

Trip nodded and then stated her hypothesis completely. "You think the shuttle crashed in the past," he said. "That's why there's no debris, but there is an increase in carbon along the path of the crash, ending in the depression." He was frowning. "How far in the past?" 

T'Pol answered truthfully. "I have not yet determined that." They were quiet a moment and she watched him. His frown deepened and his eyes gleamed. He was beginning to grieve. It was premature. "We do not have any evidence to assume that the shuttlepod's crew were killed in the crash." 

"We don't have any evidence they survived either." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "What does the radiation trail have to do with it all? You made a point of its exponential increase as it goes away from the dep--" He stopped for a breath. "--The crash site." 

T'Pol understood his question. "The probe began its descent along the same trajectory initially. At the point closest to the interference layer, the particle density is highest. It's exponential decay rate does not suggest that it simply dissipated as the shuttlepod descended. I hypothesize that we can calculate the instant the shuttlepod crashed by the drop-rate in particle density." 

Trip took another breath. "Why?" 

"Because, those particles closest to the interference layer are the closest to the present." 

His expression changed. "I need to hear that transmission," he said and he started walking away. 

T'Pol followed with her own question. "Why?" She was unsure of his sudden change in topic. 

"Because if my hypothesis is right," he replied, "we do have evidence that they're alive." 

* * *

Baezhu returned from his rounds with the animals to Samwize's room only to find Major Zhenah standing beside the bed. "Major?" he stammered. "I--I didn't expect you." 

Zhenah turned away from the comatose alien to look at him. "And I didn't expect you. That dolt Hinath had this duty, did he not?" 

Baezhu had to think fast. He really hadn't expected the major to have noticed. "He did. I traded him." 

"Why?" 

"As you said," Baezhu replied, "he's a dolt. This machine has to be monitored closely. A change in the chemical balance of the medications could kill the alien or leave him permanently damaged. And then there are the animals. Last Turn, seventeen didn't survive Hinath's care." 

Zhenah appeared to accept that. "So the alien has been asleep since Turn began?" 

"More than asleep," Baezhu found it easier when he could stick to some version of truth. "He's been put into a medically-induced coma. It's designed to allow his body to recuperate from surgery without any movement to potentially reinjure him. We've been using this with animals for decades. He can't wake up without the machine." 

Zhenah turned to look at it. "The chemical balance." 

Baezhu still wasn't sure why Zhenah was there and not out procreating. "I wasn't expecting anyone back for more than a week," he said, hoping the major would tell him why he had come. "It's kind of nice having someone to talk to again." 

"This may be the first time we've spoken," Zhenah responded, without, it seemed, taking the hint. "It looks harmless," he remarked, looking down at Samwize. "But is it? What other technology was destroyed in its sky ship? Maybe we should have just killed it out in the desert when we found it and the female." 

Baezhu didn't think so, but he was hesitant now to break Zhenah's reverie. 

"What about cameras?" the major asked, suddenly changing subjects. "Are they recording?" 

"In here?" Baezhu asked in return. "He's in a coma. There's nothing to record." 

Zhenah spun around and headed for the door. "We'll see," he spat as he bumped into Baezhu on his way out. Baezhu waited until the major's footfalls faded before he let out a long sigh. That was close. 

* * *

Trip had no more doubts. T'Pol, though, had to make it scientifically certain. They compared a recording of Malcolm's voice to the recording of the message. After half an hour cleaning the latter up even more, they had enough of a match to draw the conclusion. Malcolm Reed had sent the message. 

"We must inform the captain," T'Pol stated. 

Trip just nodded. He felt sick. Malcolm really didn't sound well and the Denobulan he seemed to be speaking just didn't fit. 

They'd crashed on that planet a year ago, but the message was less than twenty-four hours old. What had Malcolm been through in that year? 

T'Pol must have called the captain down because the lab door opened and there he was. 

"What have you got?" Archer asked as he walked over to them. 

Trip let T'Pol do the talking. "We have determined that the voice on the message is that of Lieutenant Reed," she said. 

The captain shook his head. "He was on the Bridge when the call came in." 

"We also have evidence that the shuttlepod intersected with chronoton radiation--" 

Archer held up a hand and interrupted, "Chronoton?" 

"Time travel," Trip managed to say. Then he felt he could talk. "Same radiation as we found in Daniels' quarters." 

Archer found a stool and sat down. "He called from the future? Or the past?" 

T'Pol replied, "He called approximately eighteen hours ago. The shuttlepod crashed approximately one year ago." 

"Then he's alive!" Archer sat up. "And Hoshi! He tapped out Hoshi's name in Morse." 

"He tapped out 'Save Hoshi,'" Trip corrected, "and he was speaking in Denobulan at the same time. That alone is weird but it means he was trying to hide what he was saying. They're in trouble." 

Archer was silent for a moment. Then he stood up. "I want to go get them." He held up a hand to stop T'Pol who was about to interject. "But the same thing could happen to the next shuttlepod we send down there. We have to find a safe way to do it." 

Trip could do that. It was a problem, an engineering problem. "We need to be able to get a shuttlepod past the chronoton radiation." 

"We also need to determine the level of cultural contamination," T'Pol said. "He speaks Denobulan," she explained, "to hide what he is saying. There may be little contamination, in which case, we'll need to remove all evidence of humans there. Or there may be too much to remove." 

Archer just nodded. "Maybe we'll find out what's happened to them in this year. What kind of help they'll need." He turned to go. "Get on that. Use as many people as you need. And get the doctor to try and translate the message. We're not going anywhere until the three people I sent down there are back on this ship. It's got to be done fast, but this time, we have to do it right." 

* * *

Hoshi's guard changed. That had been happening this week. She'd heard enough to know why. The mating season was upon them. And that happened only every three years. She had to admit she was curious as to just how they managed it, but her work and her sleeping arrangements didn't facilitate any peeking. The females where she slept didn't seem at all interested and that included the adults, not just the juveniles like Pipa. The night guard in the barracks had changed, too. In fact, she'd even gotten to see a third kind of native. It was more like a Komodo dragon than any dinosaur she could think of. He walked on all four legs and flicked his tongue repeatedly. He walked down the rows of females at night consistently, whereas Gothmog and the others had generally stayed at the front of the room unless something was needed. 

The guards in the daytime though seemed to rotate in and out, day by day. And they were all of the toothy T-Rex-with-long-arms type. Oddly, they were the only ones that she generally saw out and about this winter. There were two such females that went with her for the feeding duties. They didn't seem to mind the cold as much as the others. 

And it was cold. The wind was up and there had been an ice storm the night before. The heat-lamps had gone out for about thirty minutes and this morning, when she was led out, she found the area sparkling with ice. Every blade of grass, every twig on every tree was encased in crystal. The ground crunched when she walked. It was, in some ways, quite beautiful. But it made her job of sidewalk clearing even harder. The shovel worked relatively well against snow, but it had glanced off the hard ice. She though an inch might have accumulated on the concrete. She had to slam the side of the shovel down to try and crack it. Then her guard took her to a shed on the far side of the building she was in front of. He opened a crate and took a handful of white crystals and threw it on the concrete just in front of the door. 

Salt, she realized. She didn't think carrying it handful by handful was the most efficient method, but she didn't think it was in her interest to let them realize her intelligence. They were, after all, torturing the one they thought smarter. The one who didn't understand their languages. 

Besides, doing it this way drew out the work and passed the hours. They were long hours without Malcolm. 

* * *

A shuttlepod could work. It could safely get past that pulse. They came like waves on an ocean. They came every "three point two minutes on average," as T'Pol reported. But it was the "on average" that worried Trip. That meant that sometimes they came quicker and sometimes they took longer. 

Even if he could get a shuttlepod through the interference layer and between two pulses, there was still the chance of being blown out of the sky by less-than-friendly natives. But there was one other possibility. It couldn't hold as many people comfortably, but it could drop down through the pulses more quickly. It was more maneuverable and had one other very important feature. It could cloak. The Suliban cell ship would be invisible until the door opened and invisible when it closed again. 

One thing was necessary to make this as safe as possible. The cell ship had to be able to communicate with _Enterprise_ through the radiation and interference. He and T'Pol would have that worked out soon. She was overseeing the project to determine cultural contamination. That would require picking up broadcasts and hacking into computer systems on the planet. He'd be able to configure the cell ship to communicate with _Enterprise_ using the method she devised. 

So, Trip knew he had the theory. Now he had to test it out. The cell ship needed a going over and he needed a good pilot to fly it. 

* * *

The pulses stopped. Kenu and Kaife looked up from their desks when the noise stopped. The device was now silent. "They must have finally given up," Kenu said. "Maybe they'll believe their people are dead and leave us alone." 

"Maybe they'll think they're dead and come destroy us all," Kaife offered. "Anything on the code yet?" 

Kenu bobbed his head. "I've been able to isolate about twenty letters and I think I've got a handle on word and sentence breaks. But which pulse letters correspond to the letters we know on the patches? I don't know how we'll ever figure that out." 

"We make the alien tell us," Kaife replied. 

The door opened and Major Zhenah entered. "Examine that device. Fingerprints, any evidence it was used to send a message." 

"You think someone got in here and used it?" Kaife asked him. "How would he know how when we don't and we've been studying it for months." 

"The alien would know how." 

Kenu shook his head. "He can't get in here. He can't even walk. Even if he wasn't in a coma, you broke his leg." 

Zhenah glared at him, exposing his teeth. "Examine it closely!" He turned and left. 

* * *

The door to Archer's Ready Room chimed. Archer sighed. He didn't feel ready to stop sulking. "Come in." 

Carstairs entered. "I thought you'd like to know, sir, that the computer is beginning to translate some of the broadcasts. The country where the shuttlepod went down is called Zheiren. The broadcasts are from state-run media so we have some inkling of their political structure. We should have a working lexicon in a few hours." 

That was promising. "Any news of aliens?" 

"Nothing yet, sir," Carstairs replied. "It's definitely not a unified world, though. There are dozens of countries. Zheiren appears to be one of the top two and, judging by the amount of propaganda, I'd say they don't get along well with the other big one, Buftanis. We do have visuals of the natives if you'd like to see them." 

Archer had to admit he was curious. He nodded. Carstairs held out a PADD. Archer was taken aback. Lizards. They were lizards. 

"That's just one species, sir. There's a news broadcast about the change in leadership in Zheiren. Seems in revolves around three species. May I?" 

Archer handed him back the PADD. Carstairs pressed a few controls and the image changed. He handed it back. "These are the Wingeds. They are generally scientists and doctors. They just relinquished the leadership of their ruling council to the Raptors. If you scroll over, you'll see a headshot of the new Head Councilman, Grand Raptor Ussa." 

Archer did not much like that last image. There were a lot of long, sharp teeth. "And what is his specialty?" he asked. 

"The Raptors are the military. There's also something else making big news. They call it Turn." 

Archer handed back the PADD again. "The change in leadership?" 

Carstairs shook his head. "No, sir, their tri-annual mating season." 

Archer's eye-brows shot up. "Tri-annual?" Once every three years seemed rather depressing. But then Vulcans were once every seven. 

"That's why it's big news, sir." 

Archer nodded. "This might be a good time to get our people back. While the natives are distracted. See if you can find out how long it lasts. Keep me posted." 

Carstairs tipped his head and left. The door swished shut behind him and Archer was alone again. What chance did three humans have against lizards, reptile birds, and dinosaurs? That's what they had looked like. Raptors. Velociraptor, Oviraptor. Long arms ending in sharp claws and a nasty-looking slashing toe on each foot. Yet these were sentient beings. The question remained: Were they hostile? 

Archer sighed again. There was a knot in his stomach that wouldn't go away. He realized now that they should have done this before. If they'd taken the time to research the place, the crash may never have happened. The message would never have happened. Or it would but they'd take some time to go down safely. But if that had happened there would be no message. It was like being stuck in a loop. If they'd realized the voice was Malcolm's and ignored it because Malcolm was on the Bridge, would they all be safe now or would some instance of Malcolm be doomed for the rest of his life on that planet? 

* * *

Zhenah had called each of the scientists in to interview them one by one. He knew this wasn't the best time. He wasn't at his sharpest with the last days of Turn still to go. He wanted to be with the females. His body needed to be. But there was a threat now where there hadn't been before. And Turn did give him some advantage then. He was even more intimidating. 

But then the Wingeds were having the same needs and the same aggressiveness. They were less easily intimidated. Burha had no idea that the one who had stayed was not the dim-witted Hinath. Geeben was even less aware. With the alien in a coma, he'd left early and wasn't even at the facility the day before Turn. Bishtae was shocked that Baezhu had stayed. They clearly didn't know. 

Hinath was experiencing the same hormones, but he was much easier to intimidate. 

"Did you arrange with the other Lesser to rotate shifts at the facility?" Zhenah asked. 

"Did something happen to the alien?" Hinath asked in return. He wouldn't look Zhenah in the eye. He was hiding something. 

"You did not earn the chance to mate. So you were to remain here," Zhenah reminded him. "So why were you not here?" 

"T-time off?" Hinath stammered. "Am I in trouble?" 

Zhenah leaned down to put his face right in front Hinath's beak. He growled. "Only if you don't tell me the truth." 

Hinath looked ready to cry. "I just kind of had to. When he offered. It was Turn. I may not have earned it but I still felt it. I couldn't control myself." 

Zhenah stood up straighter. This was easier than he thought. It was a bit disappointing. "Who offered?" 

"Baezhu," the Lesser admitted. "He gave me his two chips." 

"Why?" 

"I don't know." Hinath stopped breathing for a moment. "This isn't about the chips?" 

"I'll forget about it if you tell me what Baezhu got out of this." 

Hinath shook his head side to side. "He didn't say. Or at least I didn't hear. When he offered the chips, I couldn't think but to say yes." He thought for a moment. "He didn't want me to tell." 

Zhenah let the Lesser go. He wasn't worth any more than he'd already given. He told him to take Baezhu's place and send Baezhu to him. "And tell Bishtae to wake the alien." 

Zhenah was boiling with rage by the time Baezhu entered. He fought to control it. He still only had part of the puzzle. 

"Why did you lie to me?" he snarled. 

"I don't recall lying--" 

"You traded with Hinath!" Zhenah yelled. 

Baezhu's eyes widened. In guilt or because the yelling startled him? "I--I'd have other chances. Next Turn. Hinath probably wouldn't." 

"So you would have him create inferior offspring for Zheiren?" Zhenah stepped closer. Baezhu was smarter than Hinath. Almost as smart as a Greater Winged sometimes. "You had a duty." 

Baezhu's shoulder dropped. "I hadn't thought of it that way." 

Zhenah leaned in on him. "So was this just about Hinath having the chance to mate or was it that you wanted to be with the alien? Maybe you satisfied your urges while you watched him sleep." He sneered. 

Baezhu recoiled. "No! I would never. I just--" 

"You are fond of him." Zhenah got in his face. "Sympathetic." 

Baezhu stammered for a reply. Zhenah didn't give him time. "Stay here!" he ordered and left. He had an idea. 

* * *

They met in the Ready Room that night. It had been forty-eight hours since the shuttlepod disappeared. Carstairs looked a bit sick. Trip had a resolute expression. T'Pol, of course, was impassive. 

Archer turned first to Trip. "You think we can get them safely?" 

Trip nodded. "Yes, sir. The cell ship can drop between the chronoton pulses and cloak as it approaches the planet. They won't even know we're there." 

Archer turned to T'Pol then. He wasn't done with Trip, but he knew it would be more complicated than just picking up his people. "Have you found them?" 

"We have found one of them," she replied. "A male, presumably Lt. Reed. Cultural contamination is almost nil. An object was seen in the sky approximately one year ago. Reports from a research facility near the desert where the shuttlepod went down began to mention a pair of aliens two days later. I have hacked into the computer system there. Using Carstairs's translations, I wrote an algorithm to find every file pertaining to him." 

"Ensign Sato was one of the pair," Carstairs interrupted. "Sorry, sirs." 

Archer nodded. "Go on." 

"She was there in the beginning. She disappears about seventy days in." 

"Disappears?" Archer didn't like the sound of that. "But he said to save her. In Morse. He said to save her. He has to know she can be saved." 

T'Pol replied. "We did find one transmission channel to a third party that begins at that time. We have not yet determined the identity of the third party as the transmission channel is highly encrypted. However, it was active within the last thirty days. I also found the first reports of a communications device of alien origin that began soon after the female alien disappears. It is likely Ensign Sato was traded to the third party in exchange for the device." 

Damn. Archer hadn't thought they'd be separated. But then, they weren't the only crewmembers on the shuttlepod. "What about Moody?" 

Carstairs handed him a PADD. Archer found there a translated document detailing DNA testing of a bone fragment found at a crash site. There was an image of the fragment. It was charred. 

"The DNA matches Lt. Moody's DNA on record," T'Pol stated. "It would appear he did not survive the crash." 

The report seemed very scientific. It was meticulous. "What kind of research do they do at the facility?" He looked at Carstairs's pained face. But T'Pol answered. 

"Biological." 

* * *

Baezhu tried to remain calm. It was hard. Major Zhenah wouldn't even be here unless something had gone wrong. He knew about the switch with Hinath but it was definitely more about Samwize or he wouldn't have kept him in this cell alone for so long. What had tipped him off? There were no active cameras during Turn so it wasn't that. He was sure he'd gotten past the guards when he retrieved and replaced the communications device. How could Zhenah know? 

The door opened and, for a moment, Baezhu could hear Dr. Bishtae protesting loudly in the corridor. But it was just for a second. Zhenah entered, dragging a gasping Samwize by the neck. Once he cleared the doorway, he threw Samwize forward so hard that he slid across the floor and slammed into the toilet in the corner. Now he knew why Bishtae was protesting. Samwize was in no condition to be out of bed. 

"You _will_ tell me," Zhenah said very deliberately, "why you gave the alien the communications device you shouldn't have even known about!" 

He did now. "How?" The question was out before he knew he'd asked it. 

"Your fingerprints on the outside," Zhenah snapped. "The alien's on the inside. He used it. Who did he call? What did he say?" 

Baezhu tried to think up a plausible lie even as he wondered how Zhenah had come to suspect the device at all. Had he heard Kenu talk that day? 

"I will _eat_ him!" Zhenah growled, stomping closer to Samwize who lay crumpled on the floor. "Piece by piece." 

He was dead. It struck Baezhu suddenly. He had to have known this wouldn't end well. But he didn't want Samwize killed on his account. He felt a sudden calm wash over him. He was dead. He didn't matter any more. He'd done what he set out to do. "I wanted him to call for help, for rescue, so he could escape from us." 

Zhenah spun around. "Did he?" 

Baezhu sighed. "I don't know. I didn't understand a word of it." Across the room, Samwize was struggling into a seated position. It was apparent he was not fully recovered from the anesthesia. 

Zhenah got into his face. His breath smelled of fish and rodents. "Was it recorded?" 

Baezhu looked up at him. "Of course not." 

Zhenah struck him hard across the face and Baezhu felt a sting and hot liquid on his face. Zhenah's claws on that hand were red. "You're a traitor!" Zhenah screamed. 

There was, surprisingly, no fear. Baezhu was angry. "I've committed no crime against Zheiren," he argued. "I acted to help a sentient being." 

"You endangered Zheiren needlessly!" Zhenah snapped back. "He may have called his people to attack!" 

Baezhu stood up straighter. "If they do, it will be because of the way he was treated here. _You_ endangered Zheiren." 

Zhenah snarled and grabbed him by the throat. Baezhu didn't fight him. What good would it do Samwize, or himself? He'd never walk out of the facility a free man. Better to die here than at Yekina. 

His lungs fought for breath, and he wondered if that was how Samwize had felt under the water. "You're weak," Zhenah said. His foot came up and Baezhu felt his abdomen open up. A searing wave of pain filled his consciousness, but he had no breath with which to scream. "A Lesser Winged should have known his place." 

Zhenah released him and he fell. He still couldn't find a breath. He caught Samwize's pained expression and looked down to see his own intestines spilling from his abdomen. He looked up at Zhenah who took one more swipe at Baezhu's neck. His claws dug in and Baezhu's blood pumped out. He turned his blurring eyesight to Samwize. "I hope they come soon" he mouthed. Then everything went dark and the pain ceased. 

* * *

Burha pounded on the door. "He's killed Baezhu!" 

Bishtae had been bringing the master key to unlock the door as Zhenah had taken the door key with him. But he stopped in his tracks. "Why Baezhu wouldn't--" 

"The key!" Burha yelled. "He's going after the alien." 

Bishtae handed him the key and looked through the door's window. Zhenah had the alien pinned to the wall several feet off the floor. 

The lock clicked and Burha pulled the door open. "Major!" 

Bishtae followed him in. Zhenah was startled by their entry. He dropped the alien, who crumpled to the floor. "Get out!" he growled. 

"You do not have authority to kill the alien. And that's what you're doing!" Burha reminded him. 

"You had no authority to kill Baezhu," Bishtae added, turning back toward the door where the lifeless body of his assistant lay with his intestines spilling out. There was blood everywhere. 

"He was a traitor!" Zhenah argued. He took a menacing step toward the scientists. 

"The Council decides capital sentences in cases of treason," Burha reminded him. "Have you contacted the Council?" 

Zhenah snarled and pushed past them into the corridor. "They stay where they are," he ordered. Bishtae was taken aback by the order. 'They.' Baezhu and the alien. He meant they couldn't remove the body, and they couldn't take the alien back to an examination room. 

He had to sit down. This was all happening too fast. He leaned on the bed. The alien, obviously frightened, scrambled away from him as well as he could. 

Baezhu a traitor. He never would have thought it. But, then, he hadn't thought it of Enesh either. Baezhu was brilliant, for a Lesser Winged, generous and thoughtful. 

"Why was he even here?" Burha asked quietly. He was looking down at Baezhu. 

"The device." Both scientists looked up to see Kenu in the doorway. "The one I wasn't supposed to have mentioned. He took it and let the alien use it. He contacted his people. At least we assume it was his people. They replied." All this was said very somberly, as ground-breaking as it was. Bishtae didn't feel like breaking any ground so it was just as well. 

"What are you saying?" Burha asked. 

Kenu shrugged. "Code, long pulses and short ones. They stand for letters in a language I can't read." He took a deep breath. "I never wanted this." 

They were all quiet for few minutes. Bishtae thought back to Baezhu's questions. His connection with the alien, the quietness he'd fallen into as time went on and the alien's treatment grew harsher. He should have seen that Baezhu was too close to the alien. He should have checked that he had left the facility. How had Baezhu overcome his need to mate and stayed with the alien the all those days? Hinath would have been thoroughly frustrated, but he would never have thought to help the alien. Baezhu was smarter and more sensitive. Now, he had committed treason and he was dead. 

Burha stood up straighter. "We need to leave. We must not give the Raptors any reason to think we sympathized with a traitor. They'll have us staked properly." 

Bishtae knew he was right. He gave one last look to his young protégé. And thought his true name one last time. Baezhu. From now on, he would be called The Traitor. 

* * *

Malcolm waited for the three orcs to leave before he tried calling out to Hoshi. 

"Malcolm! I didn't expect--" 

_He's dead._ He couldn't take his eyes off the gory scene by the door. _T-Rex killed him._

Hoshi's excitement was gone. "Who's dead, Malcolm?" 

_Smeagol,_ he replied, then thought he deserved his real name. _Bayzhoo._

"I'm sorry. What about you, Malcolm? Did he hurt you?" 

Malcolm's leg was beginning to throb and his chest ached. Small splotches of blood appeared on the shoulders of his makeshift gown where T-Rex had grabbed him before pushing him hard into the wall. _Not much. Not yet._

"Not yet?" She sounded worried. 

_They left the body here. That can't bode well, Hoshi._ He took a shaky breath. _I'm scared, Hoshi. But I'm also a bit relieved. I'm fairly sure I'll have my way out very soon. I've wanted that. I just don't want it to hurt as much as I expect it will. And I never want to leave you behind._

Hoshi took a minute to answer. "There's nothing for me here except you. If you go, I go. I think I have a way. And I think it will hurt, too, for awhile anyway." 

_Use the cold,_ he told her. _It's supposed to be a peaceful way to die._


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: Typed this one by hand--well, one scene by speechtyper--and sent it through spell-checker. Hope that Pesterfield has less to find. ;-) I've got a good idea of where most of chapter 27 will be. In fact, I wrote some of it months ago. So it shouldn't take as long. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Major Zhenah was nervous. Usually, Colonel Gaezhur was in the Council meetings arguing with Burha. And usually, the Council members weren't pulled away from the activities of Turn to preside here. The Monitors who are watching over the mundane functions of the government were not prepared to handle something of this magnitude. Gaezhur had told him to handle it as he knew what had happened best. He advised him to be aggressive against Burha and to trust that Ussa, as Head Councilman, would give him the advantage. 

Gaezhur had told him how raucous the Council chamber would be. Everyone except the Monitors were growling and snarling at one another. 

"Traitor or not, it's this chamber that decides the fate of a civilian charged with treason," Burha yelled. "Major Zhenah questioned him and killed him. He consulted no one, not his commanding officer and not this Council." 

"And you defend this Lesser Winged?" Head Councilman Ussa shouted back, banging his gavel on the desk. 

"I do not!" Burha held. "I defend his right to have his defense heard before judgment by the rightful Council. I accuse the major of usurping that right and the right of the Council to that judgment!" 

"No person is above the state!" the Grand Winged called out. He didn't remember his name even though he'd recently been the Head Councilman. "The Lesser should have been arrested, bound, and brought to us to try. We know how to deal with traitors. Perhaps the major doesn't trust the Council's judgment." 

Ussa turned to Zhenah, "Is that so, Major?" 

So much for an advantage. Zhenah shot Burha his best dirty look then turned to the Head Councilman. "It is not, Head Councilman. I trusted it completely. It was myself I could not trust. I admit I lost control. I beg the Council's forgiveness, for I, too, have been pulled away from Turn. And it is taking all of my strength now to keep myself under control as this Council deserves." 

Ussa stood up and thundered, "It is only Turn then that brings leniency on a usurper such as you. So you will not so rashly forget your place, we shall give you a lower one. Behold, Captain Zhenah." He held out his arms for effect, and the other Council members, except the Monitors, banged their fists on their desks. 

Zhenah bowed again, showing deference in the hope that he would still be heard. "I accept this demotion and thank you for your mercy." He stood again. "Now I beg your indulgence for the manner of the Lesser Winged's treason brings a potential danger. He allowed the alien to use the communications device we recovered from the desert." 

The room went quiet. The Grand Winged now stood and faced Dr. Burha. "Is this true?" 

Burha dipped his head. "It appears to be. It was not recorded. We do not know what he transmitted, but we do know that someone responded." 

And the cacophony returned. "This Council," Zhenah shouted, "must now make the most important decision in the history of Sharu." 

"This Council," the Head Monitor spoke up, "is in no shape to do so." 

"And yet it is before you," Zhenah argued. "They replied. They could be here within a day, an hour, a week, a month." 

"Or never," Burha interrupted. "If the alien does not reply again to confirm his location or existence, _they_ may think it is a fluke and pass us by." 

Zhenah faced him and snarled. "Whatever _they_ replied, they looped for hours. Who would do that for a fluke?" 

Burha didn't back down. "We have not learned enough of the alien psychology to know if they would or wouldn't. They could be coming or they might not. We just don't know." He turned to the Council. "It is a momentous decision and it should not be decided rashly. In a week, Turn will be over and we'll all think straighter--" 

" _We_ won't," the Head Monitor reminded him. "Should we wait two more and risk being unprepared?" 

Zhenah had an idea that might serve his purpose, put Burha in his place, and solve the puzzle about the aliens coming or not. "Let us make an example of the alien we have. Kill him, so slowly and gruesomely, that any aliens to come looking will hesitate to set foot on Sharu again." 

The room fell silent. Burha's eyes were wide. He was completely shocked. Zhenah liked that look on him. 

The Councilmen seemed to be thinking it over. Even the Wingeds were silent. 

Ussa was the first to speak. "It has merit." 

Burha shook his head. "With all due respect, he's the only one we have! We kill him and he's gone." 

"You could study its corpse," Zhenah told him. Then he spoke to the Council again. "This one alien may have called more, aided by a traitor. He has acted against Zheiren and perhaps all of Sharu. He deserves death anyway!" 

" _You_ do not determine that, _Captain_ Zhenah," the former Head Councilman reminded. He turned back to Burha. "What more can be learned from the alien alive that cannot be learned from a corpse?" 

Burha struggled with the question for a moment then offered, "His language." 

Zhenah laughed. "Ask Dr. Kenu how that's going. It purposely confounds him by speaking more than one. Thirteen at last count, I believe." 

"So he can't or won't volunteer useful information," Ussa concluded. "He can't answer questions if he can't understand the questions, and we can't understand the answers. Do you see that changing in the near future, Dr. Burha?" 

Burha deflated. It was fascinating to watch. His shoulders dropped, his back slumped, and his beak dipped down, "Kenu has made some progress. We know the name of his world, his ship." 

"When will we know more?" That was the Winged again. It was almost like he conceded the death sentence but was looking for a legitimate reason not to do it. 

"I -- I don't know," Burha admitted. "There's no way to know." 

The Head Monitor proved very helpful next. "Are not the Buftanisians even now working on a clone of the male alien? This uncooperative one will be superfluous when they succeed." 

"That could take years," Burha said. 

"We don't have years," Zhenah reminded them all. "The aliens have tried to communicate with the male. They are probably waiting for a response. We should give them one." 

Ussa waved his hand. "Leave us. We will decide." 

* * *

Enesh returned to his apartment flushed and exhausted, but very content. In Zheiren, he was lucky to have two chances to mate the whole of Turn. Here, he'd gotten that every single day. And there were still four days to go. It was heaven! He couldn't help but think that everyone in Zheiren would defect if they just knew how differently it was done here. 

His telephone rang. That was odd. It was late. He looked and saw he had three missed calls. He picked up the phone. "They're going to kill him," a voice said. In Zheiren. 

"Who is this?" Enesh asked. 

"That doesn't matter. Your people need to get him tonight or not at all. In the morning, it will be too late." 

"Tonight? What are you talking about?" 

"You're done screwing for the night, Enesh. Use your brain." There was a click and the line was dead. Enesh slowly set the receiver down. Someone in Zheiren had called him. Spoke to him in Zheiren. Someone was going to be killed. What did it mean? He hurried out the door to Besta's apartment down the hall. 

Besta was disheveled. He must have just come back, too. He let Enesh in and Enesh told him about the call. "It was probably just a prank," he said. 

"In Zheiren? How many young people here speak Zheiren?" 

"You'd be surprised," Besta replied. "It's either that or it's someone from Zheiren warning you to go get _him_ before _he's_ killed tomorrow. Who were you planning to go get?" 

"Dreading going," Enesh reminded him. "The alien? Why would they kill the alien?" 

Besta sighed, then showed him the door. To Enesh's surprise though, Besta stepped out with him. "We've been neglecting the lab. I figured they had him in a coma so we wouldn't need to be waiting for reports. But I suppose we should check." 

* * *

The doctor was up. And he was, for the most part, coherent. He was a few days short of his full cycle, but there were detailed medical reports coming through, and T'Pol had thought it prudent that only the doctor should see those translated reports. Archer had agreed. He worried at the number of them, but T'Pol reminded him that a year had passed and that Malcolm was in a biological research facility. That hadn't made him feel any better, but he had to concede that that was the reason for the numerous medical reports. 

There were others, though. Reports on the way the "aliens" acted together, and how the "alien" acted when he first realized the female was missing. He'd whispered her name: "Frodo." 

And that was just the first of the _Lord of the Rings_ references. There was a much longer one from many months later. That report had included a recording. The translation software--and Carstairs--had had a heyday with that. "It's a retelling of the story, sir," Carstairs said excitedly. "They'd apparently drugged him with something. Doctor Phlox is going over the compound, but anyway, it got him to speak. For a couple of hours. The thing is, we counted at least twelve different languages there. Most from Earth, but not all. Easy stuff for the translator." 

"I wasn't aware that Lt. Reed knew any other languages," Archer mused. "But it's definitely like him to try and deflect them from the truth." 

Carstairs was clearly impressed. "It's brilliant. If, by some miracle, they parse out the languages, they'll still only get that he was on a quest to destroy the One Ring. He spoke for hours and told them nothing." 

Archer looked up at him. "And there's no evidence he had any contact with Hoshi?" 

Carstairs sobered. "None, sir. We have heard _of_ her, though. The doctors in the facility shared reports about the lieutenant with someone who reciprocated with reports about the female alien." 

Archer stood up. "Do they say where she is?" 

"No, sir. There are medical and sociological reports. Medicals are sent to Dr. Phlox, as you know. As for the others, it seems she's been put to work with native females. It noted she stopped crying and sulking when they did. She follows instruction well and has not been difficult with her handlers." 

Archer was puzzled by that. "What kind of work?" 

"Agricultural, mostly. Planting, weeding, irrigating, harvesting." 

"Did they drug her to talk?" Archer sat down again. 

"No mention of it, sir. In fact, there's no mention thus far, of her having spoken at all." 

Archer handed back the report. "Find that third party, Mr. Carstairs." 

Carstairs nodded and left the ready room. Something was off. Malcolm had spoken a dozen languages over a couple of hours, and Hoshi hadn't spoken at all in a year. That just didn't make sense. Malcolm was the silent one. Hoshi was the linguist. She could speak dozens of languages and pick up new ones in a matter of days. And if Malcolm was drugged, where did he find the wherewithal to recite fiction? 

He was still pondering that at breakfast, so he brought it up to T'Pol and Trip. "Hoshi could learn their language," Trip agreed. "Maybe that's why she's not talking. I'm trying to think of it from Malcolm's point of view. He wouldn't want her to answer any of their questions. If they knew she _could_ , they might _make_ her." 

"They may have made the assumption that females of your species cannot speak," T'Pol added. "It appears that their society is male-dominated. They may make the mistake of thinking that all societies are. They only try to get the male alien to speak because the female is less important." 

Archer sat his fork down and asked T'Pol, "Why do you think they are male-dominated?" 

"The reports about Ensign Sato's work are the only reports that have mentioned females at all. They are not in the media, not in lists of historical figures for any nation on the planet. We knew they exist because of those reports and the fact that the inhabitants mate every three years." 

Trip tucked a piece of sausage into his mouth. "I'd say that qualifies." 

Archer nodded and let that go. "Okay, so how does Malcolm speak a dozen languages while drugged and have enough control to paraphrase _The Lord of the Rings_? The way Phlox tells it, he would've been too loopy to recite the quadratic formula with what they pumped into him." 

"I do not believe," T'Pol replied, "that we have enough evidence for a logical solution to that dilemma. The lieutenant is formidable but he is not immune to chemistry." 

* * *

Dr. Bishtae startled the young guard at the window in the door. "There--there is blood--" he stuttered. 

"Kahrae, isn't it?" Bishtae asked. "Baezhu's friend?" he whispered. 

The guard, a Cold Raptor, bobbed his head up and down. "It's not its blood," he said, pointing to the floor where the blood had seeped from under the door. 

Bishtae put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I'm sorry to be the one to inform you. Your friend is dead." 

Kahrae stepped back, away from Bishtae's hand. He strained harder to get the right angle at the window. "Dead? Why? How?" 

"Major--Captain--Zhenah caught him in an act of treason. He killed him." 

Kahrae shook his head. "Treason? No! He wouldn't!" 

Bishtae looked in the window. "I can't give you details," he said. The alien was still in the far corner, hunched into a ball. "He tried to help this one." 

Kahrae let out a long breath. He knew more than it seemed. Baezhu must have trusted him a lot to tell him about the alien at all. "Pretend you don't know," Bishtae advised. "Pretend you don't feel. Grieve in private. Don't give them a reason to question you." 

Kahrae held one hand to his mouth for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and nodded once before marching on his rounds. "Goodnight, Dr. Bishtae," he said without turning. 

* * *

Trip looked up from his desk as one of the MACOs entered. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders, just like all the other MACOs. _Not really,_ he chided. They were almost as diverse as Starfleet. 

"Corporal Woods, sir," the MACO introduced himself. "I'll be going with you to the planet." 

Trip stifled a growl. "As soon as we go anyway. We've got a few details to work out." 

Woods nodded. "Understood. I've got a pack ready with emergency medical supplies. I'd like to stash it near the ship so we can be ready as soon as we get the order to go." 

"Guns, too, I hope." Trip raised his eyebrows. 

Woods smiled. "I never leave home without them." 

Trip stood and walked around his desk. "You seen what the natives look like?" 

"I've heard they look like dinosaurs, only smaller," Woods admitted, still standing at a stiff parade rest. 

"At ease, already, Corporal," Trip ordered. "You're not far off. They're only smaller when comparing them to our dinosaurs back on Earth. The smaller of these guys are still about half a meter taller than you. The bigger ones are almost four meters tall." 

Woods did loosen up. He nodded slowly. "We'll need really big guns then." 

"Our first trip will be to get Lt. Reed," Trip told him. "Right now, we're trying to find blueprints or schematics for the facility. After that, we've got to pinpoint where any evidence is: blood and tissue samples, etc. Commander T'Pol is working on a virus to erase any computer records dealing with the humans, the communicator, uniforms, etc. We can't just get the people. We have to get everything." 

"Like the bone fragment." That was said very quietly. 

Trip sighed. "Yeah, like that. You guys heard then. I'm sorry about Moody." 

"Thank you, sir. We'd like to know the circumstances of his death. I'm hoping the lieutenant can tell us when he feels up to it. What about Ensign Sato?" 

Trip made a face. "We know she's down there, but we haven't got her location pegged yet." 

The comm buzzed on the wall. Trip went to answer it. "Engineering." 

T'Pol was on the other end. "Commander, can you meet me in the Science lab? I believe I have a 'lead' in finding Ensign Sato." 

Trip liked the sound of that. The sooner they found her, the sooner he could get down there and get them. "On my way," he replied. He turned to the MACO. "Ensign Travis is in the launch bay with the ship. It's not a big ship. Work with him to get everything stowed in a way that will work for us." 

"Aye, sir," Woods said as he snapped to attention. "We will be ready." 

* * *

Enesh didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. The sun was just beginning to rise--as much as it could with such a blizzard hanging over them. He was still in Buftanis. He and Besta had found no new reports from Zheiren, nothing to back up their theory about the mysterious call. Still, they had disturbed the Director, who had gotten through to President Gudai. The mission was off for now anyway. It was not feasible at this time with all members of the strike team incapacitated with Turn and all of Zheiren's armed forces still at home. If the call was true, the male alien was lost, and they must work all that much harder to clone him. If not, then the raid could proceed after Turn and after Zheiren moved to put down Shirkatitsa. 

But still Enesh wondered why Zheiren would kill the alien. They had the most valuable one. The one who could give them the clues to technological advancement, knowledge of other worlds and cultures, or simply a clearer picture of their place in the universe. The female was just a worker and a baby factory, at this point. Enesh truly doubted she would be anything more, except, he hoped, a good mother. It just didn't make any sense to kill the male. 

Maybe the caller had meant someone else. Another spy perhaps, like Nishet had been. His door chimed and, when he opened it, Besta stood waiting. "Let it go, Enesh. There's nothing you can do at this point." He tilted his beak up. "Except enjoy yourself." 

Besta was right. He couldn't stop Zheiren from killing the alien, or anyone else for that matter. It was Turn, and the females were waiting. He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. 

* * *

An even bigger, long-armed T'Rex had woken Malcolm up. No other orcs were in the room. The T'Rex barked something at him from between clinched, very long teeth. Malcolm was still groggy. He'd only managed a few hours of sleep he'd guessed. But even with a clear mind, he wouldn't have understood the T'Rex. Sauron, he decided, in keeping with the _Lord of the Rings_ code names. It would still be early in Buftanis, and he had a pretty good idea of which way this was going. He decided not to wake Hoshi. Not yet anyway. 

Sauron was apparently not satisfied with his silence. He stepped straight onto Malcolm's right thigh, the broken one, and tapped that long claw on his hip. Malcolm tried to stifle his scream as Sauron put more and more weight onto that foot. The bone, though, didn't give. They'd probably put a rod or something similar in to stabilize it. But the pain was immense, and he couldn't hold back the scream for long. 

Sauron let up and shouted at him. Malcolm had no idea how to answer. Which was why he'd never learned their language and ordered Hoshi not to speak. They could make him want to answer their questions. Hell, he already did. But he honestly didn't know what they were asking. 

Sauron didn't understand either and he apparently didn't like it. The next hour or so--it was really difficult to tell time--was spent getting pummeled and thrown around the small room. By the time Sauron stopped, Malcolm hurt everywhere. He was bruised and sore and broken, he was sure, in a few places. Ribs mostly. He really hoped the orcs would come and give him something for the pain or wrap his chest in bandages. They really were not the bad guys in the scenario, as much as he didn't like them. Except poor Bayzhoo who had begun to stink in the corner by the door. 

But when the door had opened, it wasn't orcs but more T'Rexes--Uruk-Hai--who entered. Two of them lifted him by the arms and dragged him out the door. 

Malcolm truly hoped they were done with him, like they had been with Bayzhoo. Maybe they'd take him to the orcs who'd drug him into oblivion. Maybe they'd just shoot him or behead him. The latter didn't sound fun but at least it would be quick. He wondered if it was time to call out to Hoshi, to say goodbye. 

The first thing that hit him was how bright the sun was. Daylight hours in the lab were well-lit, but this hurt his eyes and caused them to water. The second thing was the heat. Once he had been dragged clear of the last doors and the modest air-conditioning, the heat engulfed him. He was, once again, in the desert. 

He took a painful breath of the hot, but very clean air, and looked up at the bright blue sky for the first time in what was probably a year. _Too bad it isn't Earth's sky,_ he thought. _Hoshi, are you awake?_

Her answer was quick. "Yes, morning feeding for the little critters everyone likes to eat around here. How are you? Have they hurt you?" 

_No surprise there. Not after Bayzhoo,_ he replied. The Uruks kept dragging him along, sending waves of searing pain up his bad leg each time it was pulled forward. _All in all, I'm not having a very good day._

"Are we ever?" He could hear the humor and was glad he could, at least, hear her smile even if only in her mind, now and then. 

_I can hear you smiling,_ he told her. _I wish I could see it with my eyes._

"You're changing the subject." 

_Oh, the subject,_ he looked around, wondering if it was good to tell her any of this. Of course, if they killed him, she'd probably figure that out, so there wasn't much point in hiding it. Still, there was always reason to hope. _Enterprise_ may have been far out of range, but someone else might have heard his message. Vulcans could translate it. Denobulans would understand it. Humans might figure it out. Someone might come for them. For her, at least. _Things aren't so good, Hoshi. They obviously know Smeagol helped me. That's why they killed him. They're angry with me, Hoshi. They've taken me outside._

"The scientists?" He heard hope in that one, false hope, but hope nonetheless. 

_No, my love. The other ones. I don't think they mean well for me._

"Maybe someone heard. We were passing by when we heard the other message. Somebody might have heard this one." She was smart, not that he had ever doubted it. Still, he didn't want to spell it out unless he had to. And to be honest, that was for his own benefit. He didn't want to look any further than the ground just in front of his feet. 

_That's what I'm counting on,_ he said. _It's all I've got left, I'm afraid._

"I thought I was the reason you breathe." 

_You definitely are, and you're worth every bit of the pain. I shall continue to breathe so as long as it is in my power. For you and nothing else._

"They're going to kill you, aren't they? As punishment?" God, he loved her courage. 

_I think they're going to try. I won't leave you though, not without saying goodbye. I promise._

"I never want you to say goodbye," she said. "I'm going to keep hoping. One day, a year from now maybe, you and I will be sitting in a cafe, sharing a piece of pineapple cake and laughing over some joke Trip told." 

Malcolm couldn't keep his smile just in his mind at that, which caused a hiss from the soldier to his left. _And a tall glass of milk for each of us?_

"Better," she answered. "A shake, cookies and cream with big chunks of cookies at the bottom of the glass." 

* * *

T'Pol had found a way in by following reports. Reports went up a chain of command, and she had found her way to the top. 

"The ruling council," she stated, summarizing her findings for the captain and Trip. "Nine members, three of each of the main subspecies. When the shuttlepod crashed, the Wingeds held the Head Councilman position. However, as Turn approached, the Raptors moved into that position. By searching through minutes from the council meetings, I found one of note that took place just before Ensign Sato was removed from the facility." 

Trip decided to jump in. "And the communicator showed up. There are reports coming from that biological research lab about an alien communications device that started just after that particular meeting." 

Archer crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. "What happened at that meeting?" 

T'Pol took up the recitation again. "An envoy from a nation called Buftanis arrived and issued an ultimatum." 

Trip cut to the chase. "Either share the aliens, or we'll tell the rest of the world you have them and start a world war. That was the stick. The carrot was telling them where to find a piece of 'technology' in the desert." 

Archer nodded. "They traded Hoshi for the location of the communicator. So she's in Buftanis. So we can find her." 

Trip had been leaning on the counter, but he stood up. "We're closer, but Buftanis is the second largest country on the planet. We need another probe. Maybe we could pin-point her location with that." 

"It's daylight down there, right?" Archer asked. 

"Buftanis is six to eleven hours behind Zheiren, depending on the time zones. It is approaching mid-day for the laboratory where Lt. Reed is being held. It is morning on the east coast of Buftanis, but much of the continent is still dark." 

Archer unfolded his hands. "Keep it to the dark. Treat it as a test flight for the cell ship. We need to know we can get a crew safely down there and back. How is the computer virus coming?" 

Trip smiled. "It will eat every file they have mentioning anything about aliens or the communications device, but not before sending us a copy." 

The captain nodded. "There could be hard copies, too. Get with Malcolm's people. Get something Malcolm would be proud of." 

T'Pol tipped her head slightly to one side. "You wish to blow up the laboratory?" 

Archer shook his head. "Not all of it. Look, that cell ship can't hold four people and a years worth of files or specimens." 

Trip finished for him. "So we'll blow up the files and specimens. I'll go talk to Malcolm's people." He headed for the door with a lighter step. Malcolm would appreciate that. 

"I'll prepare the probe," he heard T'Pol say before the door swished shut behind him. 

* * *

Bishtae did not relish the position he was put in. He hated it. As he had told Baezhu, scientists were not cruel. They did not torture. And if a creature under their care needed euthanizing, it was done quickly and without pain. What he was now called to do was the exact opposite. He now felt his heart was beside Baezhu's. If he wouldn't be counted a traitor for it, he would have sided with the alien and tried to help him get home to his people. But the verdict was passed, and he would be beside the alien if he did anything of the sort. 

The Raptors, still flush with testosterone, had called for a traitor's death for the alien, and the testosterone-flushed Wingeds in the Council had approved. The Monitors, not wanting to anger those who would oversee their Turn went along, too. So the alien was to be spiked at Yekina. And to be certain he didn't die too soon, Bishtae, the lead scientist researching the alien would assist by directing and adapting the spikes for the alien's odd physique. No primate had ever been staked at Yekina. There had never been a sentient one before now, so none could commit a crime. 

Wooden pylons had been set deep into the sand on the side of the hill. They were set in good positions for staking the limbs of Wingeds and Raptors, Lesser and Greater. A second set nearby sat ready for Monitors of various sizes. The alien was too narrow at the legs for any of them. 

Bishtae suggested flipping him, so that his legs would be on the lower side of the hill where the pylons were closer together to accommodate reptile arms. Gaezhur would have nothing of it. "The head always goes downhill. Captain Zhenah has found a workable solution." 

The demoted, yet still arrogant, Raptor stepped forward, carrying three thick steel cables. "There are two bones in each set of lower limbs: lower arms and lower legs. We can thread these through those bones just above its ankles and attach them to the stakes in the pylons. The third cable can attach between its ankles, pulling them together where the others pull them apart." 

Bishtae threw up his hands. "Then what do you need me for?" 

"We would hate to nick an artery and have him bleed out," Gaezhur replied. "Same with his arms: between the bones. No arteries, but make sure we contact nerves. Major ones." 

Bishtae thought for a moment that he had an out, a way to keep his conscience somewhat clean. By severing major nerves, pain would be lessened for the alien. But how to convey to the alien that he should still scream in pain? And still, he'd be left to die here in the elements. More pain was more stress on the alien's whole system. He might die faster due to shock. 

So when the guards brought the alien up and dropped him at their feet, Bishtae did his job, hating every moment of it. This was not how he wanted to be vindicated for his belief in alien life. His people, he realized, were not ready to embrace such things, to learn from them. 

So he fudged in small ways. Zhenah pushed the alien onto his back by pressing his considerable weight on his chest. That alone was distressing and quite painful to the alien, who gasped for breath and writhed under Zhenah's foot. Zhenah tapped his long claw and the alien stilled. It was hard, it seemed, for anyone to scoff in the face of death by evisceration. The alien's arms were bent at the elbows to line them up with the narrowest set of pylons, and Bishtae marked a path for the spikes by inserting a long, thick needle. He chose a path that would just scrape but not crush the median nerve. 

The alien grimaced in pain as each needle was inserted. Bishtae repeated the procedure with the alien's ankles as his legs were held down tightly by wide-eyed guards. Then he found the intermediate dorsal cutaneous nerve and the peroneal artery. He set the needle to scrape the former and bypass the latter. 

The actual staking was done one at a time, to increase the horror and pain for the victim. Bishtae asked to leave. Instead, Gaezhur produced a portable defibulator set. "In case his heart gives out too early." 

Bishtae seethed at being made to watch. He snapped at Zhenah in his frustrations, "You'll crush his chest and kill him that way if you don't let up!" 

* * *

The pressure eased on his chest, but it was still hard to breathe. Lurtz wasn't off him completely, and he felt something snap in his side. Then there were the rather long pins impaling his wrists and ankles. At least he couldn't see his feet. But he couldn't look away from his hands. And what he saw next filled him with the worst terror he'd every felt. Well, except for drowning, but he didn't feel in the mood to compare. A large pointed piece of metal was being placed along side the needle in his left wrist. An Uruk there had a mallet and he began to drive the metal in. The pain was immense and he screamed. But the next strike hurt worse. The metal was threaded, and it felt like it tore where it went in. White-hot pain blocked out his sight. He kicked but they grabbed his legs and the broken one added to his agony. 

_Frodo!_

"Sam, I'm still here. And I will be, every second." 

_Don't ask what they're doing!_

"I'll tell you a story. Did you know I always wanted a cat? I was quite jealous that the captain got to have a pet on board. My mom didn't like them, so I couldn't have one. I'd go over to my aunt's sometimes just to see hers. It had long hair and lots of different colors but also tiger stripes. And it had extra toes, too. Thirteen in the front. Looked like it was wearing mittens." 

He voice was his lifeline. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried not to hear the mallet striking the stake or his own screams as it ground through his arm. He nearly passed out when one of the bones in his arm cracked. Unfortunately, he didn't, and they started on his other arm. 

* * *

Trip thought Malcolm would be proud. Woods had collected various explosives that would destroy small sections of the lab and burn hot. They didn't want to start a war or kill the animal specimens being studied. They wanted to completely eradicate any evidence of humans. 

"We'll have to do the same where they're holding Hoshi," Trip told him. "Buftanis. On the other side of the world. Bad enough they were down there, but they were down there alone." 

"Alone isn't easy," Woods agreed. "Hopefully, they'll recover once they're home." 

Trip thought about that. Eleven months or more alone in a world of aliens who were not familiar or necessarily friendly. Malcolm might be okay. He was so private anyway. Trip hoped that protected him from the worst psychological effects. Hoshi, though, she was not one for silence. She was made for communicating. It still shocked him that she'd not said a word for the whole time. 

"Well," he said, "it seems there may be only one place for human data or evidence where they have Hoshi. One lab. They keep her elsewhere. And that could be difficult." 

Woods met his gaze. "How so?" 

"She's likely to be surrounded by hundreds of female mini-dinosaurs." 

Woods' eyes went wide. "Hundreds. How are we supposed to get her out of that?" 

"That's what we've got to figure out." 

* * *

Hoshi hadn't slept much. She had known the night before that things weren't good for Malcolm. And now that she was up, she had to try not to show that she was concentrating on him. He hadn't told her what they were doing to him, and she didn't ask. It was meant to kill him, but slowly and painfully. It was hard not knowing, but she was, in a way, excited that the day had started. Because it would all be over by that night. 

While she told him about the animals she and the other two females were feeding, she went over drafts of a plan privately. She could nick a finger on a cage. Blood might get the other females going for her. Or she could start a fight with one of them. Either way, she couldn't just run. The guard would catch her. She had to get him to leave her here alone. That night, when it was dark. 

The snow could help. It was quite deep already. Maybe ten centimeters. It had stopped snowing, but the wind was strong and blew the snow into drifts. Maybe if it snowed again or the wind kept blowing, the snow could cover her tracks when she did run. 

"Tell me," she heard in gasps, "about snow." Malcolm was so very hot while she was cold. At least she had the fur coat and booties they had given her. He was stuck with his weather. 

_It's deep,_ she told him. _Soft and white as far as the eye can see. It hangs on the limbs of the trees and piles up. It snowed for hours yesterday. Hard enough that it was difficult to see through it. Maybe I can help you feel it._

She'd gotten rather accustomed to concentrating on one thing in her mind while performing rote tasks with her body. So she fed the little beasts but concentrated on the console. Tactile didn't exactly describe what she wanted but it was close. She installed the switch and set it to herself. She added a slide and slid it slowly as she concentrated on the cold of the wind on her face and legs where it hit below the coat and above the booties. Normally, she resented that exposure to the cold, but now, she treasured it as a chance to bring some comfort to him. 

* * *

It felt like a breeze. But the hair Malcolm had flung over his face to block the sun from his eyes never moved. He felt it but he had a hard time sorting out the cold sensation from the heat and pain. His fingers, some of them, radiated pain, and his arms throbbed. He wouldn't look at them anymore, though. That made it worse. His legs were elevated out of necessity. A cable attached each one to the stakes about a half a meter on each side. Another cable stretched between his two ankles, adding tension in the opposite direction. The problem was, all those cables were attached through his ankles and not around them. They were taut, so any drop in elevation pulled on those cables even more. Any movement in any direction caused pain in another. It was an exhausting, impossible, and agonizing position. 

So maybe it was cold. He couldn't tell but he did think he felt a breeze. And that made it just a little bit easier to keep breathing, to keep holding his legs a few inches off the ground. 

_I felt,_ he told her, _a breeze._

"I wish I could do more for you." 

_Just hearing you helps._ He meant it. Part of him very much wanted to just go ahead and die if he could. But the other part didn't want to leave her alone no matter what. Her voice kept him going, kept the first part from winning out. 

Sweat poured off his body, and he was parched from the lack of water and from screaming when his present position had been accomplished. His exposed skin--and there was a lot of it--seemed to sizzle in the heat. The sun, he could tell through his eyelids--was directly overhead. It was morning for her. _How long,_ he asked, _are days here?_

"On the planet? About the same as Earth, I think. But maybe your day will be short." 

But Malcolm remembered suddenly, in total clarity, the crash that brought them down. Aiming for the trees. They were headed north. And deserts tended to be nearer equators than poles. _Moody died here._

"Moody?" She thought for a moment. "I remember him. MACO. He helped you keep the nose up." 

_At least he went quick,_ he said. _I wish we could._

"I wish we could, together. I love you, Malcolm Reed. I want to be there with you." 

_I'd love to be there,_ he told, her _with you. We'd go over that wall together. Best we can manage is this._

"I can do better," she told him, and suddenly, he could see the snow, the animals, the two females she was with, and the guard with them. The snow was so white, he could block out the glare from the sun behind his eyelids and hair. "I just wish I could take the pain for you." 

Nothing on the console could block that out. Every twitch of his legs sent shockwaves from his ankles right up to his thighs. Trying to relax the cable in between pulled the cables pulling each leg outward. His back hurt because he couldn't rest his feet on the ground. He had to hold them up a few inches. It was hard on his abdomen, but resting meant pulling on all those cables. His wrists hurt but at least he could try and relax his arms to loosen any pull from the stakes. 

He tried to focus his mind on the cold and snow she was providing. It was hard to hold the images steady though. They flashed in an out with the intensity of the pain. Her voice, though, was always steady. _When do you feed them again?_

"Just after dark," she replied. "That comes early now. Ten hours or so." 

Ten hours. Could he survive ten hours in the sun? Could he stand the pain, the thirst, the heat? He would do it, he determined, somehow. He could not leave her alone on this planet. 

* * *

The probe returned to _Enterprise_ without incident. T'Pol was able to predict the time between the chronoton energy blasts so that the probe could exit the turbulent interference without hitting one. But when she analyzed the data, there was no evidence of a human female in Buftanis. That narrowed down Ensign Sato's location to the eastern coast of the country. As it had already been daylight, that coast had not been in the flight plan of the probe. 

T'Pol returned to her efforts to trace the transmissions, to infiltrate the networks of Buftanisian computers. The transmissions from the research facility to Buftanis were in the language of Zheiren. The replies were in the same language. The exact ultimatum had demanded three items: Ensign Sato, the scientist who had been turned to treason, and the spy who had turned him. The first two were granted. The third was denied. So the scientist from Zheiren in Buftanis explained the language of the transmissions from Buftanis to the research facility in Zheiren. But it did not help her to locate the point of transmission, nor provide a backdoor into the Buftanisian network behind it. In fact, it appeared to be a single system, used only for receiving and transmitting the reports. She would have to find another way. 

As with Zheiren, T'Pol could not find any national evidence for the existence of any sentient alien. Ensign Sato was likely kept in a secret facility, just as Lt. Reed was. There was one clue to her location in the translated reports sent from Buftanis. Agriculture. She worked in an agricultural facility with many other females. That would eliminate small establishments. More likely, she was on a large plantation that was known. The laboratory on the plantation would be the secret. The particular crop Sato worked produced a fiber similar to Earth's cotton. Cotton grew in the temperate zone on Earth, but in the warmer climates such as those found in the lower central section of the North American continent. But did the Buftanisian material require the same warmth? Buftanis, itself, was situated at a fairly high latitude in the northern hemisphere. Presently, a blizzard covered most of the eastern coast. There was actually less snow in the far north than there was farther south. However, produce made up most of the crops in the far south of the country. 

T'Pol concentrated her search for a plantation in the central zone of the eastern coast. She was able to pull up contemporary maps from Buftanisian media showing the various crops in the area. Then she used geographical data from the probe that was sent out after the shuttlepod disappeared. She looked for sizable plantations with significant buildings for housing large numbers of workers as well as laboratories for research. She had a few dozen possibilities, but not knowing how the female workforce was housed hampered her efforts. 

* * *

It was lunchtime, but Hoshi could hardly eat. She wouldn't need the meal. Malcolm was dying and, as soon as her opportunity came that night, she would be joining him. Life here was nothing to hold on to. There was no future worth having. 

The food was bland to her tongue, and she methodically chewed and swallowed it. Malcolm was hungry and very thirsty. She kept telling him stories about anything but food or water. The sun, for him, was beginning to dip at least. She thought she'd already lost him a few times, but he came back so she figured he must have passed out. She didn't know exactly how he was hurt but she realized it was awful. She was grateful he was holding on. For her. 

As she looked back on it now, she realized how odd it had been to fall in love here, with all they had to go through, and without seeing each other's face for so long. 

"Long distance romances have happened before," he reminded her. 

_Not in real time, not so intimately,_ she argued. _This is closer than a telephone, quicker by far than letters._

"Some men in my family did the letter writing. On the sea for months. But most of them had fallen in love before setting out." 

That was a lot for him to say. Maybe the temperature was dropping, giving him some relief. 

_I'll bet they wrote lovely letters,_ she replied. _They did back then when it was the main form of distance communications. They'd put their hearts out there with no guarantee of a reply. I like this better. I just wish I could see your face again, hold your hand._

"I'm sure I look a mess." He paused a bit. Hoshi could almost feel him trying hard for a breath. Was she imagining it? "You, on the other hand, could never be less than beautiful." 

_I'm not sure you'd say that if you could see me now. I probably look like a cavewoman._

"Hoshi Sato, I'm glad I realized that I love you before I died." 

_And I, you, Malcolm Reed. I'm pretty sure I loved you long before this, but just couldn't see it with all the distraction._

"Being stuck in your head for a year is a great way to get rid of distractions." 

_At least unwanted ones._

The orc was back. Lunchtime was over. With the blizzard coming down, shoveling was going on all day. She hoped it kept snowing right through the night. 

* * *

Trip was with the captain and T'Pol again. She wanted to send another probe over the eastern part of Buftanis. She had narrowed Hoshi's location to less than a dozen possibilities, and it was just getting dark there. The door opened and Carstairs hurried in, carrying a PADD. His eyes were wide and his face pale. "Sir, we have to go now!" 

"What is it?" the captain asked, holding out his hand for the PADD. 

"One of the latest Council session. Sir, they know he made the transmission. They know we tried to contact him, and they sentenced him to die." 

Trip looked over at the PADD as Captain Archer scrolled down. "'Staked at Yekina,'" he read. "Where's Yekina?" 

"It's where they execute traitors and spies," Carstairs answered. "I looked for cultural references and newspaper articles. Found one from just after Ensign Sato was taken to Buftanis. A Buftanisian spy, Nishet, was staked and striped there. There was a photograph. They staked him through the limbs, peeled off wide strips of his skin and left him in the desert for predators to eat." 

Trip felt sick. He read the paragraph with the sentence again. "Staked, not striped. So he could last awhile like that, right?" 

"I think that's the idea, sir," Carstairs said. 

"Any--," Archer began but had to start again. "Any reports after this?" 

Carstairs shook his head. "No sir, not from the Council. Nothing interesting anyway. They went back to focusing on Turn and the bureaucracy. We're translating more reports from the lab where they hold him." 

Archer scanned the report one more time. "It doesn't say when." 

"Sir?" T'Pol asked. 

"When are they carrying it out?" Archer elaborated. "It doesn't say when. It may not have happened yet. What time is it there? Is it dark?" 

T'Pol checked the sensor logs. "It should be approaching 'midnight' in that region." 

Archer turned to Trip. "Are you ready to go? Do you have a plan?" 

Trip nodded. His pulse was racing. "As much of one as we can. They're at Turn. The facility should only be lightly manned. We'll stun the guards and set explosives to destroy any biological specimens we find." 

"I will send the virus," T'Pol said. She returned to the computer and began to work. 

"Hoshi's gonna be harder, Captain," Trip told him. "Turn or no Turn. She's likely to be surrounded by the females she works with." 

Archer nodded. "We'll keep working on finding her. Carstairs, get the doctor the very latest medical reports and tell him to get ready. Go, Trip, and come back in this time." 

"Yes, sir," Trip said, as he headed for the door behind Carstairs. He stopped by the comm link to call for Travis and Woods to meet him in the launch bay. "I'll bring him back," he told the captain. Archer nodded and Trip headed for the bay. 

* * *

At first, he had been relieved when the sun had set. The heat had begun to dissipate and, at least, that torment was gone. Malcolm knew he wouldn't last to see another day, so he didn't have to worry about the sun any longer. But he remembered their nights in the desert after the crash in flashes of clarity. There were other things to worry about. Even through the horror of what had already happened, he found himself terrified of being eaten by some beast. 

He saw some shadows on the edge of his waning sight as the world grew dark around him. And he began to shiver from the cold. He tried to stop, but, to do that, he'd have to relax. That was impossible because each tremor sent new waves of pain through his limbs. 

Hoshi had been faithful through it all, telling him story after story when he couldn't reciprocate. She asked him a question now and then to make sure he was still there. He wanted to be. Until she could go, too. 

_Is it time?_ he asked her, interrupting her story about her sister playing Mozart in an orchestra. 

"Soon," she replied. "They're getting the feed ready." 

The pain was blinding and it was harder to breathe. He was so tired. _I can't do this much longer. I can't think straight._ His breath that had come out in puffs of steam was barely visible now. He couldn't see the stars. He heard footsteps and lolled his head to the side. A shadow was moving closer. 

_Hoshi, I think I have to say goodbye now. It's not going to end well here,_ he told her. _I want you to know that I love you more than life. If there is something after this, I'll be waiting for you there._

He tried to yell at the beast as it came closer but his parched throat and dry tongue could barely make a sound. 

"Malcolm, I'm glad I'm in the snow, so they can't see my tears. I love you more than life, and I can't live it without you. I will be with you on the other side tonight." 

It pounced and Malcolm felt his whole body tense at once. Everything: muscles, lungs, heart. But it was all in a flash so quick that he didn't register it had happened. His ears vaguely took in a yelp, and then the blackness closed in on him. His body relaxed, his eyes closed, and his mind shut down. 


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note: I hope I've found all the typos but I won't hold my breath! Bet you didn't expect this this fast! 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Hoshi and the others reached the last coop. One of the other females carried the sack of feed while Hoshi and the other filled big, shallow bowls with the feed pellets. In this weather, the creatures were staying indoors so they had to enter the outer cage area and push the bowls in through slots near the floor. 

Hoshi knew she was running out of time. She had to do something or she'd never get away. The other females had been agitated since mating season started without them. They must have been nearing maturity. Maybe she could use that agitation. 

The Raptor female started forward to enter the cage but Hoshi rushed her, and, squeezing past her, caused her to stumble. Hoshi fell but the snow cushioned her fall. The Raptor kept her footing though not without a few awkward steps to balance herself. One of them turned out to be very fortunate for Hoshi. The large, cocked-back claw on one of the Raptor's feet scraped across the bare part of Hoshi's leg. Her blood felt hot on her cold skin. 

The Raptor started to sniff. She smelled it. Hoshi stood up, leaving her food bowl spilt in the snow. She pushed the Raptor with both hands as hard as she could. The Raptor rocked back and had to steady herself again. And now, she was angry. She lunged for Hoshi, sweeping out those long arms with their sharp claws. Hoshi's coat took most of the blow, but it knocked her down again. 

The guard began to yell. He tried to calm the Raptor down. He ordered the other to stay right where she was and entered the cage, just as the Raptor female inside went for Hoshi's midsection with that claw. "No hurting!" the guard yelled, then he struck the female with his cow-prod-like truncheon. She yelped and reluctantly stepped back, growling as she went. Hoshi stayed down to see how this would play out. 

The guard turned to leave. But the female lunged at Hoshi one more time, and he had to hit her again. He looked lost. Finally, he did what she had hoped. The only safe thing. He used a remote to zap her in the neck. Hoshi went limp, but she could still watch as he forced the female out of the cage and locked the door behind him. "I'll come back for you," he told her. Then he prodded the Raptor females back the way they had all come. 

_I won't be here when you do,_ she thought in response. Ten minutes. She could do ten minutes. The snow slowed their walking down. It was deep and coming down hard. They disappeared from her sight within a few minutes. 

She was starting to get cold. She couldn't brush the snow off of her as it fell. She concentrated on moving her foot, just waiting for the moment it actually would. _Malcolm, please answer! It worked. I'm alone._

She listened hard but there was nothing in return. She imagined the console and turned up the volume as far as it would go. Still, she heard nothing but the twittering creatures in the coop. A few intrepid ones crept out cautiously to snag a morsel of food before dashing back inside. They reminded her of squirrels. 

Finally, her foot moved. She tried to sit up, feeling the minutes and her chance to get away passing her by. She laid back down and counted seconds. After one hundred twenty, she tried again. She felt weak but she moved. Slowly, she got to all fours and then used the wall of the cage to pull herself upright. 

The guard probably knew the paralysis wouldn't last. That's why he had latched the door. He didn't expect she was smart enough to unlatch it. Now that her limbs were responding better, she reached through the metal wires of the cage and easily released the latch. She looked out toward the barely-visible fence. It was time. 

She took off the coat and booties and left them in the snow where she had fallen. Then she stepped out and latched the door again. She was cold but she didn't care. She walked away from the cage, and, when she felt strong enough, she ran, stepping high in the snow. 

It was a long way to run like that and she kept thinking about the guard coming back. She didn't see the pond until she'd fallen into it. The water was cold, but only had a crust of ice covering it. She broke through and got soaked. It wasn't deep though and she stood back up, shivering hard in the cold. She was careful to step around the edge of the pond then. She could now see the tall trees and the fence beyond. It was more of a wall. One tree seemed to have a good set of branches: some low enough that she could reach them to climb and one long one that stretched over the wall. She just hoped there wasn't a city on the other side. A cliff would be better. 

Climbing was hard. She couldn't feel her fingers, and they moved stiffly. She got up on the first limb. _Malcolm, I'm coming!_ She thought of him and it gave her courage. She moved to the next branch, and the next. In five minutes or so, she was at the height of the wall. The long branch was still a bit higher. She saw trees on the other side of the wall. No lights. At least not in her limited visibility. 

She had to maneuver a bit to get to that branch and she nearly slipped. The hardest part though, was crawling out onto that snow-covered limb. She walked at first, holding other branches above her for stability. But she had to let go of those as she neared the wall. She crouched down and tried to crawl. 

But the branch couldn't hold her weight. She heard it crack and lunged forward just before it snapped. she hit the wall on the way down and landed hard on rocks below. Her body exploded into pain and she lost consciousness. 

* * *

Trip waited while Woods peered around through the binoculars. Woods stepped back and changed the setting on his rifle. "The sensors didn't do them justice," he whispered. "They're huge." Travis had set down a few hundred yards from the facility and Woods and Trip had walked to within sight and tucked in behind a rock. 

"Bigger'n those guards back at that trellium mine?" Trip whispered back. His heart was already pounding. Malcolm was either in that facility or dying out in the desert. 

"Come to think of it," Woods said, "no. They're about the same." He put his weapon to his shoulder. "There's one at the door. You ready, sir?" 

"Time's a wastin'," Trip replied. Woods got to his knees and fired of two quick rounds. Trip heard a muted thud and they were off. Staying behind Woods, Trip glanced at his tricorder as he ran. "There are cameras," he pointed out. "Let's hope there's not enough people on duty to be watching." He looked down at the creature Woods had stunned. It was immense and reptilian. But not like the Xindi and not like the guards. This wasn't humanoid. It did indeed look more like a relatively small dinosaur dressed in armor. He gripped his phase pistol harder and hoped there weren't anymore of them inside. He didn't like his chances if it came to hand-to-hand combat. 

"And by the time they see the recordings, we'll be gone," Woods told him. They stepped through the door and found themselves in a corridor lit with a warm red light. There were light boards along the walls, though they were dimmed. Some of them still held films of x-rays of the internal parts of something. Trip thought he recognized a lung. Animal sounds twittered from the various rooms they passed, but Trip could not see anyone moving in any other part of the building he scanned. They were in a hospital or laboratory of some sort. The animals must have been in cages, he surmised. 

Trip led the way now, with Woods keeping guard. He was able to see the schematics now on his tricorder. There was a lot of power coming from a room toward the center of the building. "Could be refrigeration," he said. 

"Let's go," Woods replied. Trip followed the tricorder's promptings as it began to register signs of humanity. There was another guard near the door, but Woods took him down before he could lift his gun. Woods stepped in first, "Clear." 

Trip was glad for that. He stepped past him and found multiple readings of human DNA. Trip took the pack off his back and started opening doors. He had a list of medical terms in Zheiren downloaded to his tricorder and he used that to find the vials that belonged to Hoshi and Malcolm. There was mostly blood, kept in cold packs for infusion. But there was also a vial of white liquid Trip did not particularly want to know about. And a lone bone fragment. He took the blood because it might be useful. And he took the bone. Then he set charges in the freezer and refrigerator that held the other samples. They would go off in thirty minutes. He picked up the pack again and they were out. 

The tricorder showed two guards at another door. He showed Woods. "Could be important to need two guards during Turn." Woods nodded and they went there next. Four shots and two stunned dinosaurs later they found themselves in a lab filled with communications equipment. There were diagrams of the communicator on the desk there. He started looking, opening up every drawer, looking in every cubby hole and nook. He did not find the communicator itself. "It doesn't seem to be here." 

"Blow the whole place up," Woods suggested. "If it's here, it'll be destroyed." 

Trip looked at the size of the room and the amount of material. "We're going to need something bigger here." He set his pack on the desk and Woods pointed out the right explosives for the job. 

"Set it for twenty-five," Woods said. "It'll go off about the same time." 

Trip found a spot under a table near the center of the room and set the device. 

He changed the setting on the tricorder. If the communicator was in there, he'd find it. But the ping he got put it in another corridor altogether. "I've got it," he said and he led Woods out of the room. The guards were still down. That was promising. They ran quickly now. Woods checked each intersection and then they moved on again. They turned left at the next corridor and Trip caught a hint of an odor. As they moved farther, the odor became more noticeable, and more horrendous. They turned right again, and an outer wall of the building became visible on the tricorder. The stench was stronger and it caused Trip's eyes to water. Maybe that was why he hadn't seen the movement. 

" _Haeru!_ " 

Woods pulled at Trip's elbow and they quickly backed into the closest of the rooms. Trip looked around while Woods guarded the door. There were no animals in this room, but there was a large metal table and stands loaded with surgical equipment. Trip really hoped this was a hospital if this was where Malcolm had called from. He listened for the footfalls of what he assumed was another guard, but he couldn't hear anything. The tricorder, unfortunately offered no help, as the instruments in this room were giving off too much electromagnetic interference. 

Suddenly Woods went flying backwards, right into Trip. To Wood's credit, he kept a hold of his weapon. Trip couldn't say the same for the tricorder. " _Haeru na oshe!_ " He looked up into the snarling, sharp-toothed face of another reptilian guard, its own weapon pointed right at the two of them on the floor. 

Then something unexpected happened. The creature lowered its weapon slightly and held out one of its arms to them, its three fingers spread out. " _Ssamwaese?_ " it said. 

"Huh?" Trip replied as he and Woods slowly got to their feet. The guard holstered his weapon and ducked his head to look at them on the floor. " _Akea Ssamwaese,_ " it said, then pointed to Trip and Woods. " _Ssamwaeze Gamzhee._ " 

Trip had no idea what _akea_ meant but the rest of it sounded a lot like something he'd heard in a movie recently. "Samwise Gamgee?" 

"Sir?" Woods asked, not taking his hand off his rifle or his eye off the guard, who was now bobbing his head up and down. If it had been human, Trip would have thought that a nod. 

" _The Lord of the Rings,_ " Trip replied. 

" _Ikoh Ssam?_ " the creature said, moving its hands in a manner that indicated it wanted them to follow. It backed out of the doorway. 

"He might have used it as a code name," Trip guessed. "I doubt these people have ever seen the movie." 

The guard looked down the corridor to the left and the right, then back at them. " _Ka!_ " it said, its voice softer but insistent. " _Tafa!_ " 

"Do we trust him?" Woods asked, as he stood up. 

"He's not shootin' us," Trip replied. "And if he knows where Mal--Samwise is, I don't see as we have a choice." 

They stepped out into the corridor and the guard took off to the left, the same way they were heading before the guard had caught them. Trip and Woods had to run to keep up. Trip pocketed the tricorder so he could put his other hand over his nose. The stench was awful. 

"Smells like something died," Woods whispered beside him, and Trip had to agree. He just wondered why whatever it was hadn't been cleaned up, this being a hospital and all. He holstered his phase pistol and took out the tricorder again. He skidded to a stop at another branching corridor. "I really hope it's not Lt. Reed." 

"I didn't get human before on the tricorder. Not enough of it anyway," Trip told him, though he was a bit worried himself. If Reed wasn't there, was he already at Yekina? "But the communicator's there." 

They kept going. The smell was very intense here. Down the corridor was a row of narrow rooms with windowed doors on each side. Only one door was open. The guard was standing there, waiting for them. 

" _Baezhu_ ," the guard said, and Trip thought it sounded sad. It didn't follow them, but waited there as he and Woods moved toward the open door. 

The dead thing was most definitely there. Trip felt the bile rise up in his throat. The communicator was there, broken into several pieces on the floor, and one of the natives was similarly disemboweled at the far end of the room. 

Then he noticed what else was in the room. A bed. A small bed. Small for one of the natives, but just about right for a human. The sheets were dirty and there were leather straps at the sides and top. Blood was smeared on the walls in places, even the far wall. Trip used the tricorder. Not all the blood came from the dead native. Malcolm had been here. But blood was DNA. It had to go. 

Woods scooped up the communicator and dumped the pieces into one of his pockets. Trip felt him tugging at his pack. "He's not here, sir. Head out." 

Trip stepped back out the door and let Woods set the charge. The guard was still waiting for them, nervously looking to either side as if he was afraid they all might get caught. Trip wondered why this guard was trying to help them. As they caught up with it, it started off again and Trip realized they were heading toward that outer wall he'd seen on the tricorder. 

They reached an immense metal door, and the guard opened it to the cool night air beyond. He stepped partly out and pointed one of his long arms toward a hill on the horizon. " _Ssam eko ne-ira._ " 

Woods went out first, his rifle ready again. "Clear, sir," he called and Trip went out. 

" _Baezhu hoora Ssam," the guard said. "Teu kala Baezhu. Ar hooreh aedu_ " 

There was a path, pavement covered in dry, sandy dirt but still visible in the light of the doorway. It led away from the city and toward the hill. 

" _Teu kala Ssam,_ " the guard went on. He stepped out of the way of the door and let it close behind him. " _Tafa!_ He pointed again to the hill. 

"I don't know why you helped us," Trip told the guard, "but thank you." Then he turned to Woods. "Shoot him." 

"Sir?" 

"He's a traitor now. They'll kill him like they did the guy in the room. Shoot him so he won't have to answer so many questions later." 

Woods nodded. He made it quick, firing as soon as his weapon was raised. The guard went down. 

Then Woods and he were running again, and in fifteen minutes, they were at the top of the hill. Trip was breathing hard. _At least the air's clean,_ he thought, thankful to be away from the stench of the dead native. In the room where they had held Malcolm. He didn't want to think what they had done with him, strapped to that bed. 

Woods pulled out his binoculars and Trip used the tricorder for the same purpose. "I see him," Woods said, adding, "I think." He didn't sound to sure. "Down by that ravine." 

Trip expanded the range of his scan and verified it. "Human," he said. "That's him alright. Something's with him, though." 

They ran again, slowing only as they neared the ravine. Trip's legs felt like rubber by the time the dropped behind a ridge. Woods had the binoculars out again as he peered over the ridge. "What the--" he said. 

A loud yelp sounded from Malcolm's direction, but it didn't sound human. He checked the tricorder and saw the thing that was with him was still there, though a bit further away now. "What?" Trip asked. 

Woods put the binoculars away, and lifted his rifle. He changed the setting as he explained. "Predator of some sort. Something hit it, seemed to shock it." 

That explained the yelp. Trip checked his phase pistol, setting it to kill. Woods took aim with his rifle, popping up the sight so he could see. "It's coming back for him," he said. "I can get it from here." 

"Do it," Trip ordered. Woods pulled the trigger and the animal howled. Woods took another shot and it was quiet again. 

"Damn!" Woods exclaimed, letting the rifle fall back on its strap as he stood. "The shock," he said. "It also hit the lieutenant." 

Trip paused only long enough to verify that there were no other creatures but the three of them for a mile in any direction. He snapped the tricorder shut. "Let's go get 'im." 

As they ran closer, Trip began to make out Malcolm's form lying on the side of a hill with his head on the low end. It was still too dark to tell what his condition was but the closer they got the clearer it got. Woods was faster and reached him first. By the point Trip could see clearly, he stopped running altogether, frozen to the spot by what he was seeing. Malcolm was lying on his back, wearing only an ill-fitted, blood-soaked gown. Stakes of some sort pinned his arms to the ground. This was Yekina. They were too late. 

"Sir!" Woods called and Trip swallowed the bile in his throat. "He's alive." 

Malcolm was alive. Trip could see it now. His chest rose and fell in uneven jerks and his eyes were open. Trip forgot himself and Woods and Travis and everything else and ran to his friend. Malcolm didn't turn his head or move much at all. Trip put his face in front of Malcolm's staring eyes and hoped his friend could see him. 

"Malcolm," he called. "Can you hear me?" 

Trip thought he saw Malcolm's mouth move. "Trip?" Malcolm breathed, looking up at him. 

"I'm here, Malcolm," Trip told him. "You just hang on and we'll get you out of here." 

Malcolm said something. Trip could only make out "long enough." 

And then it hit. It felt to Trip like sparks running through his entire body. He nearly fell back into the ravine, as his muscles contracted. 

The next thing he knew someone was saying, "Commander?" It took a few seconds before he could see who was saying it. Woods. "You alright?" 

Trip nodded, still trying to get a good breath. "Sorry about that," the MACO said. "Pressure plate set it off. Apparently to keep the predators away." 

Trip stood and walked back toward Malcolm to see if he was still breathing. "We need to stop that." He took out the tricorder and looked for the power source. It was near Malcolm's left leg, or rather, where the cable attached to his left leg was anchored. "I'll get it." He moved over there, careful to stay on the far side of it. He brushed sand away and found a small box that contained a large battery and several leads. He took out the battery and tossed it down in the ravine. "Good to go!" he called. Woods nodded and opened his pack beside Malcolm. 

Woods checked his tricorder and set to work with pressure bandages and splints. "Back's in decent shape. Won't have to worry about that, but he's got a collapsed lung. He used his knife to dig out a hole beside Malcolm and then poked a scalpel into Malcolm's side. He inserted a tube right behind it and a blood rushed out. Malcolm drew a deeper breath but he was still breathing in small uneven gasps. He opened his mouth in an attempt to talk, but only managed to croak out one word: "Hoshi." 

"We're gonna get her, too," Trip said. "Don't you worry about that." He addressed Woods. "I can cut the cables but I'm not sure yet how to get at the stakes." 

Woods held the tube so that the blood drained into the hole he'd made. Woods went back to the tricorder. "They're deep," he said, indicating the stakes in Malcolm's arms. "Maybe half a meter. We can't just pull them out without guaranteeing we infect the wounds and cause him more pain." 

"Then we'll have to cut them," Trip decided. He wasn't going to cause Malcolm any more pain than necessary. "Use your plasma torch. We got anything to help the pain?" 

Woods nodded as he activated his torch. "But we can't give it to him." 

"Why not?" Trip, using his own plasma torch, snapped the central cable first. Malcolm's legs dropped to the ground. With slack now in the outer two cables, Trip was able to use the torch on them without Malcolm's legs moving again. 

Woods was on Malcolm's right so Trip went to the left. Trip placed his flashlight so it faced Malcolm's elbow and then started to dig around the stake. But he didn't find much sand. He found wood. He thought for a minute. "Forty-five degree angle, cutting deep, we'll slice through that stake less than an inch down." When he could see an inch of the stake, he started cutting. 

"Drugs could kill him," Woods finally answered. "I'm really surprised he's still here. He's been here for hours, Commander. He's sunburned. Badly. Probably nearing heat stroke by the time the sun went down. Now he's hypothermic." 

Trip moved the torch in a circle, cutting at that forty-five degree angle. The stake was cut, as was a wedge of the wood around it. Malcolm's left arm was free. Trip lifted it gently and spun the wood off the threads. 

Woods had the other cut loose, so Trip took out his communicator and signaled Travis. Then he just sat by Malcolm's head and brushed the rather long hair off his forehead while Woods continued working. Malcolm's lips were moving but Trip couldn't hear anything. "Malcolm?" he said. "Stay with me." Malcolm gasped and tried to move his legs as Woods moved him to get a blanket underneath him. His eyes scrunched closed in pain but all Trip could do was tell him to keep breathing. "You can do this, Malcolm." 

Woods very gently adjusted Malcolm's arms so that they were beside him on the blanket. Malcolm's eyes stayed closed and his face contorted weakly into a silent grimace as his breath came and went in sobs. Trip realized he didn't have the strength to even cry out. "Just a little bit longer," Trip told him. 

Woods finished preparing Malcolm as a space opened up in the night sky ten meters to their right. "We're ready." The space revealed the well-lit interior of the cell ship and Travis at the controls. 

Woods had spread another blanket over Malcolm's form. "Get his head," Woods said, "and back into the ship. I'll get his legs." 

Trip nodded and helped to lift Malcolm with the blanket as they moved quickly toward the ship. Malcolm's face was red in the light of the ship. "Anyone coming our way?" Trip called to Travis when they had gotten close enough. 

"Not yet, sir." Travis said. "All clear. How's Malcolm? From the look on your face, I'm guessing it's not good." 

Trip didn't have time to give him a real answer. Just in case Malcolm was still conscious, he didn't want to mention just how bad it looked. "It's not," he told him and he sat back into the ship and started scooting back, pulling the blanket--and Malcolm--in with him. As soon as Malcolm's legs were in, the MACO ran back to the spot with the stakes. Trip saw him place an explosive there. He ran back and jumped in, shutting the door. 

"Take us home, Travis," Trip ordered. Malcolm was shivering under the blanket and still breathing in ragged gasps. His eyes were opened, but he stared straight ahead as if he wasn't really seeing anything. "We're goin' home, Malcolm," Trip told him, holding him to his chest in the cramped ship. "You're gonna be fine." 

"As fast as you can, Ensign," Woods added. 

Travis had been watching Malcolm with wide-open eyes and concern written on his face. Trip guessed his face could be read like that, too. But Travis snapped back to his controls. "Aye, sir." 

"I'm not a sir," Woods reminded him with a small smile. 

"I don't care," Travis told him, and the ship began to lift. 

"Try and keep it smooth, Travis," Trip told him. "I don't want to jar him." 

Travis nodded. "How is he?" he asked. 

Woods didn't spare him. "He's dying. Thus the hurry. And it will have been a long, torturous death," he added glumly and wiped the back of one hand across his face. Then he pulled his pack off his back and fished for something. He came up with a pack of water and a clean cloth. He poured some of the water onto the cloth then contorted as much as he could to reach Malcolm behind Travis's chair. He handed the cloth to Trip. "Wipe his face, gently." 

Trip nodded and brushed the hair from Malcolm's forehead. His skin was splotchy and red. The skin on his arms and legs were worse, beet red even in the dim light of the cell ship. He'd been in the sun for hours. "You're gonna be alright, Malcolm," he said, trying not to choke on the words. He brushed the wet cloth over Malcolm's forehead and cheeks. Woods leaned over and put the pack to Malcolm's lip sand let a little water trickle in. Malcolm didn't swallow, but he also didn't choke. It probably was just enough to moisten his parched mouth. 

"We broke orbit," Travis reported. "Three minutes to interference." 

"Can you get a message through?" Woods asked. 

Travis checked his sensors. "Yeah, they've got the tether out." 

"Open a channel to Sickbay." 

Malcolm blinked and his gaze shifted just a bit when his eyes opened again. "You can do this, Malcolm," Trip whispered. "Just keep breathin'." 

"Channel open," Travis reported. 

"Phlox," said the doctor's voice. 

"We'll need you in the bay," Woods told him. "Gurney, crash kit, blood, oxygen. He's critical." He finished by ticking off vitals. 

"I'll be there. What's your ETA?" 

"Two point five minutes if we don't have to wait for a chronoton pulse," Travis replied. 

"Understood. I'll route you to the Bridge." 

"Bridge," T'Pol's voice came over the comm. 

"We're just over a minute to the interference, Subcommander," Travis told her. "I need a window." 

"Acknowledged." T'Pol's calm tone annoyed Trip. Malcolm was dying in his arms. He didn't want calm. "Reduce speed by point one seven percent and you should come though just after a pulse." 

"Reducing speed is not so great right now, Commander." Travis sounded panicked. That was better. 

"You will arrive less than 2 seconds later than if you kept present speed and there were no pulse. There is, however, a pulse." 

"Right," Travis sighed. "Reducing speed." 

"Point one nine now." 

"Acknowledged." 

_Two seconds,_ Trip thought. _Malcolm can last two seconds more. I hope._ "Stay with us, Malcolm. We'll get you to Phlox. He's gonna help you." He turned to Woods. "Can he even hear me?" 

"Maybe," Woods replied. "It can't hurt." 

Malcolm just kept gasping. 

"Thirty seconds to interference," Travis reported. 

"As smooth as you can, Ensign," Woods said. 

"As I can," Travis replied. "Smooth doesn't work there." 

Malcolm's gasps came slower now. _Not now!_ Trip thought. "Hang on, Malcolm. That's an order." 

And Malcolm turned his eyes toward Trip's voice. He gulped in another breath then breathed out, "Trip." Trip wouldn't have heard it if Malcolm's face hadn't been so close to his own. 

"Malcolm, you gotta breathe," Trip whispered back. 

Another gulp, "Tell." Gasp. "Hoshi." 

"You're gonna tell her yourself, Malcolm. We'll get her next, I promise." 

"Here it comes!" Travis warned, and then the ship began to shake. To Travis's credit, it wasn't as rocky as the trip down had been. But it didn't do Malcolm any favors. His gasps sounded more like chokes, and his eyes got just a tad wider. Trip couldn't imagine the kind of pain Malcolm was in when they found him, but clearly, the jostling made it worse. 

And once the jostling stopped, so did Malcolm's gasps. "Malcolm!" Trip cried out. He waited a moment for another breath but it didn't come. Instead, Malcolm just seemed to sink down into his chest. "He's stopped breathing!" 

"Floor it, Travis!" Woods called out. He put a hand to Malcolm's throat. "There's a pulse. Weak, but it's still there. Breathe! Damn it!" 

Trip looked up and saw _Enterprise_ looming closer. And closing fast. The bay doors were opening. 

"Just wide enough to get us in," Travis said. He must have called the ship. "Then close them. We need Phlox!" 

"Understood," Trip heard. 

"It stopped." 

Trip looked back down at Malcolm. _No!_ His chest hurt. His throat hurt. So far. Malcolm had come so far. 

Trip felt a thud and realized they had docked. Woods pulled back and edged closer to the door. Trip counted the seconds until it opened. 

Woods was out before the door had fully opened. There was a flurry of movement behind him. And then Woods pulled at the blanket around Malcolm's legs and whisked him out of the ship. Trip had to react fast to slow the descent of Malcolm's head. And then he was gone. 

Travis didn't get up, but Trip saw him lean over the fight console. And then he saw T'Pol through eyes growing cloudy with tears. She did something uncharacteristic. She held out her hand to them both. 

Travis shook his head. "We're gonna get Hoshi," he said. "We have to get her." 

T'Pol nodded and dropped that hand. "You'll stay with Malcolm," she said to Trip. 

_Stay_. Would he need to stay if Malcolm was dead? Suddenly all the other sounds in the bay flooded his years. Woods was talking in a rushed voice. Phlox was calling out orders. _He would have just pronounced him dead,_ Trip realized. _Malcolm's not lost yet!_ He took T'Pol's hand and let her half-pull him to the edge of the cell ship. Just as they were carting Malcolm toward the door. 

"I'm coming with him," he said and he stood up. 

* * *

Dr. Bishtae had volunteered to stay at the lab for the remainder of Turn. He'd lost all desire to mate after Baezhu's death and then the alien's execution. He'd tried sleeping but that wasn't working either. He'd had nightmares that the alien was staking him to the ground. Instead, he'd gone to his office to draw up a death certificate. He'd sign it in the morning after he'd officially confirmed the death. 

Now all he had was everything they'd already learned. A years' worth of records detailing anatomical facts of the most amazing creature to ever set foot on Sharu. A sentient primate who'd come from another world. He watched video taken through the months. He'd seen them all before. But perhaps he'd see something new in them. 

He pulled up the one from the time they'd drugged him to talk. It was the first time they'd heard more than one word from him. The alien rambled on and on, and Bishtae found he could sense when the language changed. He kept it playing in the background and pulled up the records of the brain scan and vocal cords. 

Then the talking stopped and he heard static. He switched back to the video and stopped it. It was just static. The images were gone with the audio. He wondered what had gone wrong. He went back to the record of the examination of the brain. The images disappeared first, then the words began to dissolve. In a panic, Bishtae turned off the computer. Then he remembered the files were on a server and backed up in the capitol. He picked up the phone to call the network team there. A Monitor answered the other end. Bishtae tried to tell him that he needed the files restored from backup. But the Monitor interrupted, saying the servers were being attacked there and he didn't have time to talk. 

Bishtae hung up the phone and ran down the corridor toward the server room. He turned a corner and nearly tripped on a guard lying prone on the floor. Another guard lay a few feed away. These were meant to guard Kaife's laboratory, though that research was also hampered when Gaezhur, in a fit of rage, had taken the device to the alien's cell and crushed it under his powerful foot. The lab was dark. Bishtae tried nudging the guard at his feet, and the latter groaned. 

"What happened here?" Bishtae demanded. 

"Huh?" the guard asked. 

Bishtae changed direction and ran to the Security room. No one was on duty there, due to Turn, but the cameras were active. He didn't see anyone suspicious, but he did see guards down at the main doors. One of them was Kahrae. Bishtae reversed that feed. His eyes grew wide. He saw Kahrae rise from the ground in reverse and then two figures move backwards toward him. He backed into the main doors and they followed. Perhaps Kahrae had followed them and was shot. 

Bishtae looked for another feed. The figures were dressed like the aliens had been. One of them had worn the same uniform exactly. They were people! He backed up to the feed on the cell where Baezhu's body was. He saw them enter in reverse. The one in the other uniform knelt, stood up, and then knelt again nearer to Baezhu's body. They left. Bishtae ran it forward again. He could see their faces. They were the same species! They'd come for him! 

The kneeling one had picked up the pieces of the communications device and left something else. Bishtae left the booth and ran there. He was breathless by the time he reached it. There was something there in the middle of the room. He could see it blinking through the window in the door. 

He ran again. He realized what it was. The computer files, all their research, all evidence. It was a bomb. They were destroying the evidence. Maybe the whole lab. It was too cold outside, but he had to leave. And he wanted to see them. He ran toward the Cold Storage room. There were environmental suits there. He grabbed one and ran to the outer door where he'd seen Kahrae fall on the tape. 

Kahrae was just waking as Bishtae ran out. Bishtae grabbed his arm and half-dragged the groggy young Raptor away from the door. Then he left him in the sand and hurriedly put on the suit. He could feel his limbs growing stiff. 

"You saw them," he told Kahrae. "They were like him! Did they go to him?" 

Kahrae pointed a shaky arm in the direction of Yekina. It was awkward to run in the suit but the adrenaline was flowing through Bishtae. Maybe he could find them still there. He was losing everything else. He got a few dozen yards before he heard the blasts behind him. He looked back to see that Kahrae was safe, and then turned back again to Yekina. He ran on. 

He was panting hard when he crested the hill. His legs felt like rubber and spasmed. He started down anyway. As he got closer, he could see another blinking light in the area where the alien had been staked. Still, he had to know. He ran down the hill. He stopped when he was sure, when he could see clearly enough to know the alien was gone. He scanned the area for movement, anything. There was a hairy shape a little further away. _Shehra_ most likely. He saw no other evidence. He backed away, then turned and ran to the top of the hill. He was knocked down by the blast. All the evidence. Even his dying blood. Bishtae looked to the sky and the distant stairs. There was a ship up there: _Aldastsufra_. Another world out there somewhere: _Aosdeh._

* * *

Captain Archer had approved sending another probe, and T'Pol had launched it ten minutes later. It had a shorter flight plan and returned five minutes before the cell ship. Lt. Reed was being cared for in Sickbay, so T'Pol went back to her lab in the hopes of finding Ensign Sato. 

She hadn't expected it to be this easy. Once she'd downloaded the data, she pulled up the information on the biggest plantations in the eastern coast of the continent Buftanis was on. One stood out. It was drawing much more electricity than the others. A visual examination showed search lights. What agricultural farm kept search lights on hand? 

Carstairs entered the lab again. "I was hoping to find the captain here. Reports from Buftanis are finally coming through. We got in through the president's network." 

"Well done," T'Pol replied. "Give me the data and I will upload the virus. What have you learned thus far?" 

"We started with the later reports after what we learned about Lt. Reed." Carstairs handed her a PADD. "Wherever she was, she's gone missing." 

T'Pol studied the PADD briefly. "I see. Please find the captain and request he meet me in the launch bay." 

* * *

Jonathan Archer hadn't left the launch bay. He felt ill. He hadn't recognized the man Woods had dragged out of the cell ship, but he knew it was Malcolm. And he was sure, by the limpness of his body and his blank, staring eyes, that Malcolm was dead. His stomach still recoiled. He had done this. 

Even after he knew Malcolm wasn't dead. It was still his fault. Phlox had pulled back the blanket and torn open the blood-stained cloth that covered Malcolm's chest. He cut away the sutures that were lined up vertically on his sternum and pushed his gloved fingers into the incision. Archer had had to turn away to keep from being sick. 

He only turned back when he heard the bag. One of Phlox's assistants had the bag over Malcolm's nose and mouth and was forcing air into his lungs. They lifted the gurney and one of Malcolm's arms fell loose. The bile had risen in Archer's throat to see the piece of metal piercing Malcolm's forearm. They lifted his arm back onto the gurney and left the bay. 

And Archer had stayed. He played it over and over in his head. Malcolm dead. The bag keeping him alive. What had he suffered? And why? If he'd waited, gotten more information before sending the shuttlepod. . . . 

"It's not your fault, sir," Travis said. Archer turned to look at him. He didn't get out of his seat or even straighten himself up, slumped as he was over the controls of the cell ship. "We didn't know about the chronoton pulses, or that it was Malcolm's voice on the transmission." 

Archer sighed. "Until a few hours after they left," he reminded him. "If I'd just waited for that information--" 

"Then it wouldn't have been Malcolm's voice," Travis argued. "He called us, so he had to be down there. He said 'save Hoshi,' so she had to be down there, too. If they weren't there, there wouldn't have been a transmission. But there was." 

Archer waved him off and turned back to the spot where Malcolm had lain. "Starfleet's going to need a whole department to figure all that out. I can't understand enough of the temporal mechanics to take away my feelings of guilt." 

"Doctor Phlox may save him yet," Travis said. "And we've got to find Hoshi. There won't be as much to feel guilty for. Besides, they probably think we all have enough guilt to go around, for leaving them down there for a year." 

Archer thought about that and tried to push the guilt aside. "Yeah, that will be a fun conversation." 

T'Pol entered the lab. "You're here," she said, with subdued surprise. 

"I've been here," Archer replied. "I'm going to be here until we're ready to get Hoshi." 

"We are ready," T'Pol stated. She handed him a PADD. "She's in a covert facility disguised as a working plantation midway up the eastern coast of the largest continent in the western hemisphere." 

Archer studied the coordinates and handed the PADD to Travis. "Tell Woods to get ready for another trip." 

T'Pol turned to make the call and Archer sat down on the edge of the cell ship. "Just tell me she hasn't been sentenced to death in the last twenty-four hours." 

"In fact," T'Pol said as she returned to him. "She has gone missing. I believe they are looking for her." 

"Missing?" Travis asked, beating Archer to it. 

Archer wasn't sure what to make of that. "How did they manage to lose the only human in the country?" 

"According to the guard making the feeding rounds," T'Pol recited, "she caused an altercation with her teammate and was injured. The Raptor female became aggressive and had to be removed. He left with two Raptor females and left her locked in a coop. When he returned for her, he only found her coat and footwear. There is a blizzard hitting that region, ten centimeters of snow per hour. It covered her tracks." 

"She made a run for it," Travis summarized, shock and perhaps a bit of pride in his voice. 

"A run for what?" Woods asked. He had returned, cleaned up and with a restocked kit bag. "She's injured and cold on a planet full of dinosaur people. Where's she going to run?" 

Archer knew he was right. It was an act of desperation. But why now? Why tonight? "Our sensors can find her?" 

"Easily," T'Pol answered. 

He had one more question. "How long has she been missing?" 

"It's not exact, but I estimate one to two hours." 

"Then lets go find her before they do," Archer activated the door and slipped back into the ship. Woods tossed his bag in and ducked under the closing door. T'Pol nodded and headed out of the bay. 

Travis guided the cell ship out of the launch bay as soon as the doors had opened wide enough for the ship to get out. The cell ship turned away from _Enterprise_ and headed for the interference layer and the planet beyond. The comm chirped. T'Pol's voice reported, "Chronoton pulse in three, two, one. You have a forty second window, Ensign." 

"Aye, sir," Travis replied. "I'm on it." 

The ship bumped and rocked violently for four seconds and they were through and streaking toward the planet. Travis activated the cloak and steered them to the large northern continent in the western hemisphere. They stayed at high altitude until they'd reached the eastern coast in the vicinity of the coordinates T'Pol had given. 

They couldn't see land. There was an endless floor of white clouds. The blizzard. "Winds are strong," Travis said. "It's going to push us. But I've figured that in." He began to lower the cell ship straight down into the cloud. The winds began to buffet the ship even before they'd exited the cloud. The ship moved laterally but Travis turned it against the wind so that they were watching the ground come closer. 

Then Archer thought he saw it. Long streams of light were hitting the clouds above and the ground below. Search lights. "They're either looking for her or heard about Zheiren," Woods commented. 

"That's the place, alright," Travis stated. "We'll be there in twenty-five seconds." 

"Time to start looking for a human." Archer turned to the sensor controls and set them to search for human biosigns. He prayed Hoshi still had one for them to detect. 

"Ten seconds," Travis called out. 

There was nothing on the sensors. Archer boosted their power, drawing from weapons and warp, two systems they wouldn't need right now. 

"We're here," Travis said. "This is the outer edge of the compound where she was working. Fields are on the other side of the buildings. Coops here for small animals. Probably a food source." Travis pointed at the viewscreen. Beyond his finger was a swarm of movement. At least twenty very large, very menacing velociraptors in uniform were searching the cages, a pond, the open ground, and the trees right up to the wall the cell ship hovered over. "Anything on sensors, sir?" 

Archer looked back at his display, still showing a distinct lack of results. He heard Woods sigh behind him. "Blood, sir. Look for her blood." 

Archer took a breath and nodded. He adjusted the sensors as guilt crashed in on him again. She was dead, too. The sensors beeped. Pinpoints of blood showed up and Archer compared them to the scene out front. "At the far cage on the left. There are minute traces leading up to and beyond the pond. There's some on a tree to our right. Turn us around, Travis. Ninety degrees." 

The ship turned. "She climbed the tree." There were larger concentrations on the rocks below the broken branch on the other side of the wall. "She's on the other side." 

Woods was straining to look over his shoulder. "She can't have gotten far. Not after that fall and the cold." 

"Set us down, Travis," Archer ordered. 

"Yes, sir." The ship moved to the side until it was clear of the high wall that marked the edge of the compound. Then it dropped slowly to a gentle landing on deep snow. Steam rose up in front of the ship. "Let's hope nobody saw that," Travis said. 

"Get the weapons back online, just in case," Archer told him. "Woods, you're with me." Archer activated the door panel and one side of the ship lifted skyward, exposing them to a blast of cold air, and snow. 

"Let's hope no one looks over that wall," Woods remarked as he slid out from Travis's left. 

Archer stepped out and began to shiver. Maybe they should have taken the time to dress appropriately. He pulled out his scanner and adjusted it while he could still work his fingers. "She headed for those trees," he told Woods and pointed to a clump of thick-trunked trees in front of them and to their right. "The trail stops there." 

Every step they took dropped their feet at least six inches into the snow, so they couldn't move very fast. Archer's nose and ears were going numb as they reached the edge of the trees. 

Woods had his own scanner out. "Some of them are hollow." he said. 

Archer wasn't sure he heard right. "Hollow?" 

"The trees. Some of them are hollow. Maybe she took shelter in one." 

Archer readjusted his scanner. "I'll take right; you take left." He headed for the first hollow tree on his right, but heard a distinct 'oomph' behind him. 

Woods had fallen right into a snow drift on the windward side of an old tree. "Sir!" 

_Not him, too,_ Archer thought. This planet was going to eat his soul for all his guilt of injuries or deaths of those of his crew who were hurt or killed here. But as he neared Woods, he didn't seem injured. He was pulling snow away from the tree with his hands. 

"It's her!" he said. And Archer could see the bluish-white leg Woods must have tripped on. 

Archer pocketed his scanner and dropped to help pull the snow away. Then he could see her. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. Her left arm lay at an odd angle on her thighs, and one leg was tucked up to her chest. She wore a thin gown of plain fabric. "Hoshi!" he tried. 

Woods put his hand to her neck. "No good. My hands are numb. She's out of the wind in there. She might be alive." He pulled his scanner back out. "And I don't think we're getting her out of there easy." He pointed to the top of the extended leg. "This hip is dislocated. Several ribs broken. The arm, of course. We have to move her, but medically we shouldn't." 

"We can't leave her here," Archer told him. "You're the medic. Tell me what to do and I'll do it." 

Woods nodded and then had Archer maneuver Hoshi's leg while he tried to turn her torso in the hollow of the tree. Then together they slid her out. Woods got an arm under her legs and another under her back. "Help me up." 

Archer helped him stand with her and then they raced back to the ship as quickly as they could. The door lifted as they approached, which was good because they couldn't see the ship and might have run right into it. Woods went in first and laid Hoshi in the back. Archer got in and closed the door. 

Woods pulled a thermal blanket from his pack and started wrapping her up. He pulled his scanner. "Just barely there," he said. "Make it quick, Mr. Travis." 

"Yes, sir!" Travis said. The ship rose fast but smooth. It went with the wind and shot upwards toward and through the clouds. Archer vaguely registered the sight of the atmosphere as they broke through into space. "Cell ship to _Enterprise_ ," Travis called on the comm. "We need a window." 

"Increase speed by point two six, Ensign," T'Pol responded. "You'll see the pulse. Let it pass." 

Archer couldn't help but turn to look out the viewscreen. A wide bright flash winked in front of them, blinding him for a minute. The ship didn't stray from its course and soon they were buffeted by the interference. Archer looked back to Hoshi. But she hadn't moved. 

"Phlox is in surgery," Travis reported after he closed the comm. 

"The cold's what'll kill her," Woods said. "I can help with that. We make it to sickbay and I'll keep her stable until Phlox can take over." 

A gurney was waiting when the door rose. T'Pol was there. "Mr. Travis, if you're up for another flight. There is still physical evidence in Buftanis that needs addressing." 

Archer left her to manage that and passed four MACOs as they came into the bay armed to the teeth. He followed Woods and Hoshi and the med techs around her. 

When they entered Sickbay, he found it subdued. Phlox was in the back area with Reed. Woods and the med techs put Hoshi on a bed and wrapped her in more blankets. 

"You got her." 

Archer turned to find Trip sitting legs out on the floor, leaning on one of Phlox's cabinets. He had a hollowed-out look. "There are chairs," Archer suggested gently. 

Trip didn't seem to hear him. "I don't know how he's gonna live through that." 

Archer remembered the sight of Reed in the launch bay. He didn't know either. He didn't say anything. He just sat down beside him and waited for Woods or Phlox to tell him that one or the other, or both, had died. 


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: Speeched-typed the last couple of scenes. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Her consciousness came back in a dream, or a memory. Pain. And with pain, the realization that she was not dead. Snow fell around her, on her. She was cold. "Use the cold," he had told her. 

"I'll use the cold," she tried to say out loud, but her mouth wouldn't work right. 

She could hear sounds muffled through the snow. She looked up. She could see the top of the wall. She had to get away. They could find her. 

She couldn't stand. When she tried, she rolled off the rocks. She was crying in earnest then and couldn't be bothered to worry if anyone heard. When she stopped rolling, she looked up to see trees. Big trees. She could hide there until the cold could take her. 

She tried to rise but her left arm wasn't pointing the right way. She thought that it should hurt more than it did, bent as it was, ninety degrees and not at her elbow. The cold was already working. 

So she crawled with her right arm and right leg, pulling the left side of her body along with her. It was hard work and slow going. Her limbs, even her face, stopped hurting. But her chest and stomach were a knot of agony. 

She reached the first tree and got around it. She didn't think she could go any further. She put her hand out to steady herself as she sat up, but her hand sunk into snow inside a hollow of the tree. Frantically, she pulled it out. She sat up and backed herself into the hollow space. She drew her right leg up to her chest, but her left one wouldn't obey. She reached out to brush the snow over it and the opening then tucked herself back in. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to stop, for her mind to stop, for her life to end. 

But the pain didn't stop. And her mind didn't stop. She heard sounds, voices. A language she knew very well: English. She opened her eyes and woke to a dream she'd stopped dreaming. She was lying on a narrow, high bed in a brightly lit room, surrounded by computers and counters and shelves full of critters. There was a curtain up on her right side. 

"Hoshi?" a voice asked gently. She remembered it. But it wasn't Malcolm's. She wanted Malcolm's voice. She stared at the curtain, waiting for this memory to fade and take away the hurt beneath her ribs. 

"I'll get the doctor," the voice said. 

Hoshi looked up as a familiar face approached. Phlox. She wanted to tell him to go away but her mouth wouldn't work right. But this was a dream. It should work in a dream. 

"Hoshi, you've been through an ordeal. And a long fall," Phlox told her. "But you're recovering now." 

A weight seemed to slam into her chest. Fall? Recovering? She looked at her left arm in a cast and tried to move her left leg. 

"Your hip was broken. You need to be still," Phlox told her. 

This wasn't a dream. It was real. It was real and she was alive. He had done this! Kept her from dying. She was alive and on _Enterprise._

She closed her eyes and screamed as loud as she could in her mind, _MALCOLM!_ There was only silence. She imagined the console, tried to adjust it, but there was no power. It was dead because Malcolm was dead. 

It wasn't fair! She didn't want this, not without him. She kept her eyes closed and turned away. Maybe she could still die from whatever plagued her chest so. She wanted to tear open her breast and reach in and pull it out. It was too much to bear. All of it was too much. How could she live without him? How could she walk and talk and eat and laugh and work and do anything if he wasn't there? 

"Hoshi," Phlox tried again. "If you're in pain, I can give you something." 

She nodded. _Give me too much,_ she thought to him. But she didn't answer any further. He put something to her neck and blessed darkness washed over her. She fell asleep again and, once more, hoped she'd never wake up. 

* * *

Phlox pulled Trip away from Malcolm's side. The latter had survived surgery only to end up attached to machines again. Trip was pretty sure Malcolm wouldn't want that anymore, but it was keeping him alive. 

He met the captain and T'Pol at the front of the room near the imaging scanner. Phlox had a presentation prepared. On it was the representations of two bodies, one male and one female. A couple of areas were highlighted on each. The male's arm and skull, the female's rib and a lung. "According to the facility's very detailed records," Phlox explained, "this represents the injuries from the crash. They were treated accurately and allowed to heal. But then, approximately forty days later. . . ." 

The screen changed. Both bodies were marked with glowing lines. A leg each, an arm, one of the male's eyes, their torsos. "A month after this, Ensign Sato was in Buftanis." The female body disappeared and was replaced by a rear view of the male body. Glowing lines covered it. "This is only the second of many exploratory surgeries performed on Lt. Reed. After each, he was induced into a coma. The surgeries occurred approximately every forty days." 

The slides changed more rapidly. "He's been vivisected," T'Pol summarized with Vulcan bluntness. 

"There were times," Phlox said, as the slides stopped, "when he was subjected to less invasive experiments. Heat tolerance, cold, reactions to different substances on the skin. He was drugged to induce him to talk." 

_In twelve languages,_ Trip thought. 

Phlox continued "Toward the end of his ordeal, the pretense of scientific value was all but laid aside. He was subjected to sleep deprivation, held under water, and had his femur broken. The excuse for that was to test the amount of pressure it would take to break it. He obtained several other serious injuries in a beating after that that required emergency surgery. He was woken up before a week had passed and was severely beaten again before being sentenced to death." The slides changed again. "His arms were staked at a point to cause nerve damage and break both bones in his lower arms. Thick steel cables provided tension in both directions if he moved his legs and pinched a nerve in his ankles. He spent an approximate twelve to fourteen hours in that position in the desert. 

Captain Archer turned away. He cleared his voice before speaking, "And Hoshi?" 

"Ensign Sato suffered less pain," Phlox replied, "but she was violated in other ways. Her reproductive system was analyzed and there were at least three attempts to implant an embryo." 

T'Pol raised an eyebrow but said nothing. 

"Of what?" Trip asked, imagining horrors he really didn't want to imagine. 

"'Of whom?' would be appropriate," Phlox corrected. "They were attempting to clone the lieutenant." 

"Was she pregnant when. . . .," Archer didn't finish the question. 

Phlox nodded. "But the fetus was not viable. The fall accomplished a miscarriage." He put up on last slide detailing Hoshi's final injuries. "Her left side took most of the damage in the fall. Her hip and arm are broken. She has hairline fractures in her lower leg. Her jaw was displaced and broken in two. She has a concussion and five broken ribs which contributed to internal injuries. I've repaired her internal injuries and set her broken bones. I've repaired the lieutenant's most severe and life-threatening wounds. I am certain Hoshi will survive." 

Trip caught the undercurrent there. The doctor was not certain of Malcolm's survival. The captain apparently needed it stated more explicitly. "And Malcolm?" 

Phlox took a breath. "He is on life support. He's comatose. I cannot be certain that he'll ever wake up." 

Archer looked pained but Trip couldn't bother with the captain's feelings right then. He left the three of them and went back to Malcolm's side. He adjusted the stool by the side of the bed and picked up the book he'd chosen from the computer's store: _The Lord of the Rings_ by J.R.R. Tolkien. It had seemed fitting. He found where he'd left off and continued reading aloud. His voice cracked and he had to stop, but he cleared his throat and went on. Maybe somewhere deep in his mind, Malcolm could hear. 

* * *

Captain Archer closed the connection. It was only the second time he'd ever spoken with Malcolm's parents. He had called them to inform them of their son's condition. They had taken it stoically. Stuart Reed had commented that nothing of this sort could have happened if Malcolm had joined the Navy like all the Reed men before him. His mother had asked if he was going to live. Archer hated telling them that it was too early to say, that Malcolm was on life-support to give his body a chance to heal. They thanked him for informing them and then said they needed to see to their breakfast. 

While Archer hadn't wanted to face weeping, emotional parents, he did feel they lacked some warmth. He didn't want to think bad of them, but he remembered how they hadn't even known Malcolm's favorite food. He wondered what kind of life Malcolm had had with them since his aquaphobia kept him from the all-important Navy. Did Stuart run the family like an admiral or a father? 

Archer yawned. He was so tired. He hadn't slept well since the shuttlepod had gone missing. It was near impossible since he'd brought Hoshi back. Every time he laid down and closed his eyes, he imagined what had driven her over that wall in the middle of a blizzard. And why that day? Had she somehow known they were coming or had she finally just decided she'd had enough? She had to know there was no escape on that world. Had she hoped to get away or die when she climbed the tree? Had she cursed the falling limb or thanked it? Had loneliness and desperation and hopelessness driven her to suicide? 

And then there was Malcolm, staked to the ground during the heat of the day in a desert. How had he held on for so long? How could anyone live and have a decent life after suffering as he had? Did his penchant for privacy help him cope with being alone down there for so long? Did he feel hopeless? Did he fight back when they had hurt him? Or did he recognize the futility of defiance under those circumstances? 

And most importantly, couldn't all of that have been prevented? If he'd sought out more information before sending a shuttlepod, could they have avoided the death and trauma? If the shuttlepod hadn't crashed, would there have been a transmission? If they'd recognized it was Malcolm's voice, could they have erased it by leaving him on _Enterprise_? Could Hoshi have translated the message and then stayed behind so that she wouldn't have suffered there? Would Moody still be alive if they had realized the paradox sooner? 

Porthos laid his head down on Archer's thigh and Archer scratched his ears. Porthos always forgave his failings. Maybe tomorrow he'd ask the doctor for something to help him sleep. Something to help him forget, if only for a few hours. 

* * *

Phlox pulled back the curtain and found Commander Tucker in an uncomfortable position beside the lieutenant's bed. He tapped him slightly on the shoulder and the younger man started awake. 

"Malcolm?" he blurted. 

"No," Phlox told him. "He's not awake. You need rest, Commander. Go to your quarters. I promise to let you know if anything changes." 

Trip pleaded, "Anything? Anything at all?" 

"Of course," Phlox assured him. 

Trip sighed and stood. He watched the lieutenant's face as he ambled past the curtain and out of Sickbay. Phlox then turned his attention to his patient. He checked his vitals and found, to his disappointment, that things hadn't improved. Lieutenant Reed still very much needed life support. Phlox had found the ports on the side of his neck, and the corresponding tubes that led to his lungs and heart, that were leftover from the research facility. Phlox had utilized them rather than the usual methods of intubation and IV's. There was also a tube leading to the stomach. These devices were likely used during vivisections and the comas that followed. They worked well for the comatose state the lieutenant was in now. Though, Phlox assumed Mr. Reed would not be thrilled to find them still in use. 

Next, he checked the wounds for any signs of infection. He'd had to thoroughly wash out the wrist and ankle wounds and then give the lieutenant high doses of antibiotics considering the conditions in which the wounds were inflicted. They were clean at this time, but while there was no sign of infection, there was, likewise, no sign of healing. 

When Phlox had finished with Lt. Reed, he moved to Ensign Sato. She was asleep and he moved quietly, hoping not to wake her. Her vitals were strong, though her wounds, too, showed little sign of healing. He was concerned also for her mental state. Though her jaw was wired in place, she should still have been able to form words, well articulated or not. She could drink with the use of a straw. Yet, she'd not asked for water or food or said anything at all. That might have become habit for her, he realized. But the tears were not. Her reports had her weeping after her transfer to Buftanis but not after she was put to work with other females. What had drawn her to attempt escape or suicide that day, and what caused the tears now? Only she could say. He decided to try and engage her in the morning. 

The captain would have informed both their families by this time. Decisions would need to be made tomorrow. Lt. Reed would not be happy to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Unless he showed some improvement, the option to let him die had to be fairly evaluated. Should sentiment allow him to suffer in vain? But that decision did not have to be made tonight, and not by Phlox alone. Tonight, there was still a chance for improvement and survival. And Phlox would do all he could to support that outcome. 

* * *

She was standing over him. He was splayed out before her, naked but for a cloth covering his groin. They'd chained him to the ground, spread-eagle form. Except the chains impaled him. At his arms but also though his stomach and chest. His skin was burnt red and the hot wind blew sand into his wounds. 

His eyes squinted up at her as a large, hairy predator ambled up and took a large bite from his side. "Why did I have to wait so long?" he accused. 

She jerked awake. But the dream didn't leave her. Had she been selfish, wanting him to hold out until night so she could get away? And for what? He was dead anyway and now she had to face a life without him. She didn't know if he was chained like that. He'd hidden that from her to spare her. But he had been in terrible pain and unable to seek shelter. And she had remembered the predator, though she never got a really good look at it. It had kept its distance when they were walking in the desert so long ago. It had only approached when they were still. What would have been there to stop them from attacking him in the desert before he died? If he couldn't seek shelter, he also couldn't run away. Had he not only died but been eaten? She felt sick and heavy and helpless. Everything hurt. Her mouth was dry. His had to have been worse. All day in the sun and then cold at night. He had suffered. Suffered long and died painfully. She couldn't possibly hurt worse than he had. She felt guilty complaining about her pain when he had been forced to endure that agony. 

"Ensign?" 

She knew the voice. She didn't bother looking up. 

"Would you like some water?" 

Water. She'd had some that day. Let him feel it as it washed down her throat. But only feel. In the end, he was still parched. 

"Are you hungry?" 

Eating had been harder. Knowing that he was dying had taken all flavor out of food. But they would have been curious if she didn't eat. They might have brought her into the lab. She would have missed her one chance to be with him. Just as she had, in the end. Still, she had been fed and he had gone hungry. 

"Hoshi?" He was persistent. "Please look at me." 

She turned her head briefly. He smiled at her. How could he smile? He knew Malcolm, too. Didn't he know? Hadn't they found him, too? 

Phlox held out a PADD to her. "You can write anything you'd like to say if that would be easier." 

Maybe they hadn't. Had they left him there? They'll study him more. They'd probably already done the autopsy. They had little vials of him stored on shelves and in refrigeration units. His heart in a jar of formaldehyde. His brain sliced and placed in Petri dishes. 

Hoshi squeezed her eyes shut to try not to see those images, but they weren't in her eyes. They followed her into her mind, and she sobbed involuntarily. 

She felt the PADD touch her leg, and she pushed it to the floor. It was their fault. All their fault and she wouldn't give them what they wanted when they'd taken everything from her and left him there in specimen jars. 

* * *

Trip skipped breakfast and went straight to the Bridge. Captain Archer wasn't there. T'Pol nodded toward the Ready Room and Trip pushed the chime. 

The door slid open. The captain had a sunken look on his face. "Morning, sir," Trip managed. 

Archer nodded. "They did a good job in the lab." 

Trip took a moment to process that. The MACOs, the lab in Buftanis. Evidence they couldn't just leave behind. "There were more eggs, more of Malcolm's DNA," Archer went on. "They could have tried cloning him again. It's gone, all of it. They destroyed half the building. Carstairs got another report from one of the scientists complaining about the loss of valuable research. The media reported a natural gas explosion." 

"And in Zheiren?" Trip asked, curious about the results of his own mission. 

"The media didn't say anything, apparently. But it made quite a stink in the Council." 

Trip nodded. "Let's hope all they've got left are memories." 

"They're apparently arguing over the best way to prepare for our invasion," Archer stood. "Hoshi's parents want to talk to her." 

"Has she spoken at all?" Trip asked. "Have you talked to Phlox this morning?" 

Archer nodded. "No change for Malcolm. Hoshi's been awake a couple of times." 

Trip regarded the captain a moment. "You gonna see her?" 

Archer shook his head and turned away. "Not just yet. I know you went to sit with Malcolm. He should have someone there. We're not going anywhere just yet. Go." 

Trip sighed. "Thank you, Captain. I think he's been alone too long already." Trip turned and hurried out to the turbolift. Phlox hadn't called and the captain had said no change. So Malcolm was still alive. That was something. 

He found the Sickbay still dimly lit. Phlox was just leaving Hoshi's bed. "How is she?" Trip asked quietly. 

"'Morose' seems appropriate," Phlox replied. He held up a PADD. "She doesn't seem to want to communicate at all." 

"That's worrisome," Trip commented, looking toward the curtains that gave her privacy. What if she was too damaged to come back? And if she was, what about Malcolm? If he survived at all? "Maybe her parents can help," he offered. "They want to talk to her." 

"Perhaps in a few hours," Phlox replied. "She's resting again. Shall we check in on the lieutenant again?" 

Trip nodded and they pulled back his curtains together. He looked just the same as last night. His hair and beard were still ragged and whatever part of his skin could be seen was red. Malcolm's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be simply asleep. Except that he didn't so much as twitch when Phlox opened one of his eyes to check his pupils or changed a bandage. There were a lot of bandages. 

"Can we get his hair cut?" Trip asked. "Help him look more like himself?" 

Phlox nodded. "Yes, but no shave yet. His skin needs to heal a lot before that." 

Trip remembered shaving after a sunburn. It wasn't pleasant. The beard could wait. Finally, Phlox finished his ministrations and left, closing the curtains behind him. Trip touched the back of Malcolm's hand, but thought about the spikes and the nerve damage. Malcolm wouldn't be able to feel being touched there, even if he was awake. He thought about a shoulder, then, but that was thoroughly burned and covered in some film Phlox had applied. When was the last time someone had touched him in kindness? 

Trip sighed. His voice would have to be enough. "You're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore. Please wake up." 

* * *

Phlox went over the records from the night and compared the results from this morning. Hoshi was getting stronger, though slower than he might have hoped. Her psychological and emotional state was hampering her body's inclination to heal. If he couldn't get her to eat today, he might have to sedate her and put in a feeding tube. 

Lt. Reed on the hand, was steadily declining. It was a slow decline, thanks to life support, but it was there. Take away the contributions from life support and his blood pressure was falling, his pulse was weak, and his oxygen levels were dropping. Phlox hoped that trend would change by the end of the day. A decision would have to be made if it didn't. 

Phlox set the results aside and pulled up the lab reports from Zheiren. He'd gone over the highlights before. But there was a year's worth to go through. Two, when he factored in the reports from Buftanis. Then he realized something he'd missed before. He double-checked the translations and formulations. Then he checked back through something each surgery. They had gotten the anesthesia wrong. Hoshi, thankfully, showed only one surgery with the faulty anesthesia, though that was bad enough. Malcolm had suffered more than a half dozen. Paralyzed and awake. 

* * *

Trip's voice grew hoarse so he put the book down. Malcolm hadn't moved. Trip's stomach growled, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast and couldn't afford to skip lunch. He sighed and stood up, touching Malcolm gently on the shoulder. "I gotta eat something," he told him. 

Phlox entered just as he was heading toward the curtain. "Lunchtime, Commander?" the doctor asked. 

"Skipped breakfast," Trip admitted. He looked back at Malcolm. "I hate seeing him like this." 

"We can see if the barber can cut his hair, but a shave will need to wait," Phlox said. "At least he'd look more like himself." 

Trip sighed again and nodded. He left because he couldn't think of anything else to say. On his way out though, he stopped in to ask Hoshi if he could bring her something from the galley. She turned her face away and stared into the curtain. Her face was tear-stained and bruised from the fall. Trip closed the curtain and left Sickbay behind. 

Travis saw him enter the galley and waved him over. Trip nodded then got in line to get his food. He was hungry but didn't feel like eating much, so he picked up a sandwich and left it at that. Travis moved his seat closer to Trip's and spoke quietly. "How are they doing?" 

Trip took a bite of his sandwich. "Hoshi's awake. Not very talkative. She's been crying. Doc says she's morose but stable. Malcolm's in a coma, and Phlox doesn't know if he'll wake up." 

Travis nodded. "But he's alive." 

_Barely,_ Trip thought. But he didn't wasn't to be morose either. "Yeah, he's alive." 

Travis nodded again and they both finished their lunches in silence. Travis offered to put away his plate. Trip thanked him. "I'm going to see about setting up a call to Hoshi's parents. Maybe they can reach her." 

* * *

Hoshi's imagination reached back to their first months on Sharu. When they'd sat together and whispered to each other so quietly that no camera could have picked it up. The orcs had wheeled a monitor like this one in. And they'd played children's shows to try and teach Malcolm their language. Malcolm had broken it. Hoshi looked around her bed for something to use to break the monitor Trip was setting up beside her bed. It wouldn't make her speak. She would never speak again, for what they'd put her and Malcolm through. 

But when the screen flickered to life, Trip backed away. There were no children's programs. There were images of two people she loved dearly. 

"Hoshi?" her father asked. "Talk to us, please." 

A hard, painful lump filled Hoshi's throat. Tears pooled in her eyes then fell when she blinked. " _Papa,_ " she breathed. " _They killed him_ ," she whispered in Japanese through her frozen jaw. 

" _Who, Hoshi?_ " her mother asked, also in Japanese. Hoshi looked up at Phlox and Trip at the other side of the room. She didn't want them to understand her. Then they might try and make her understand why they'd left her and Malcolm there to suffer and die. 

" _The man I loved_ ," she told them. " _They left us stranded and they hurt us._ " Her jaw was starting to hurt. " _They cut us up and put things inside of me. But they killed him, long and slow. He tried to stay with me until I could die, too, but he couldn't. He died, and I think they left him there._ " 

" _Your captain told us some of what happened, Hoshi,_ " her father said. " _I'm so sorry you had to suffer that. And for a whole year. But, Hoshi, did you try to kill yourself?_ " 

What difference did that make? It was the only thing left for her to do. She hadn't known--or believed-- _Enterprise_ would come, not after all that time. " _There wasn't anything for me there,_ " she said in her defense. " _No life, not there. Not alone. With him I could bear it. For him, I bore it. But he was gone. He is gone._ " She couldn't hold back sobs anymore. 

Her mother put her hand to the screen. " _I wish I could hold you and tell you everything will be okay, like when you were a little girl. We love you, Hoshi. It hurts to see you in pain._ " 

* * *

Trip watched from across the room. "I don't think it helped," he spoke quietly to Dr. Phlox. "She's crying even harder." 

"That may be a good sign," Phlox told him. "She's really grieving now. It could be cathartic." 

Trip nodded. "Japanese?" 

"You would know better than I," Phlox reminded him. "I only know one Earth language." 

"Me, too," Trip sighed. "But, hey, she's speaking, right? Sort of?" 

"That is a positive sign. Though the use of Japanese leads me to doubt she's ready to talk to us." At the moment, a rather insistent beeping began to emanate from Malcolm's corner of the room. Phlox rushed over and Trip followed. 

Malcolm was shaking, everywhere. By the time they reached him, he was seizing violently. "Keep him on the bed," Phlox ordered, then he rushed to his shelves and containers. 

Trip didn't want to hurt Malcolm. He wasn't sure Malcolm could feel anything anyway. But he was so damaged that Trip didn't want to make it worse. And he was terrified. But when Malcolm's right arm flopped off the bed, he lifted it as gently as he could with its muscles spasming and put it back on the bed. Then he stepped right up to the edge of the bed so that Malcolm couldn't possibly roll off that side. 

Phlox returned with a hypospray and placed it against Malcolm's neck. The shaking subsided within a few seconds, and Malcolm's limbs fell limp again on the bed. But the beeping didn't stop. 

"Step back," Phlox ordered. He pulled back the sheet on Malcolm's chest and placed two paddles over the bandages there. He touched a panel beside the bed, and Malcolm's torso jerked up from the shock. The beeping stopped. Phlox checked Malcolm's pulse on the monitor and removed the paddles. "He has a steady rhythm again," he reported, and Trip let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 

Phlox came around to meet him at the other side of the bed as Trip collapsed into the chair there. "We may have to come to the realization that his body has suffered too much." 

Trip felt like he'd been shot. He turned his head sharply around toward the doctor. "He's fought so hard to stay alive. He's still alive." 

Phlox put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "He's alive because he's on life support. He cannot stay this way indefinitely. I do not wish for his death, Commander. But I know he wouldn't want a life of unconsciousness hooked up to machines. We may have to let him go." He paused a moment. "I'll need to speak to Malcolm's parents when Hoshi is finished." Then he turned and left Trip where he sat. At Malcolm's side. 

* * *

Malcolm's parents took the news rather stoically. His mother, Mary Reed, showed more concern than her husband, Stuart. "If you turn off life support," the latter asked, "can he survive?" 

"There's always a chance," Phlox admitted. "But it's an extremely small chance. His injuries are very severe." 

"He's in a coma now?" Mary Reed asked. "He's not suffering?" 

"Not anymore," Phlox told her. "He suffered a great deal before ending up in the coma." 

"Perhaps it's better that it ends in the coma," Stuart stated. "He'd suffer again if he survives. There is no dignity in living on machines." 

Mary Reed agreed, nodding slightly. "He wouldn't want that. I understand burial in space is somewhat like burial at sea." 

Phlox sighed. It was decided. "Yes, very similar. Would you like to see him?" 

Stuart's frown deepened. "Lying there, hooked up to machines? No. Thank you. We must inform his sister. Good evening." 

The screen went blank. Phlox sat there staring at it for a few minutes. He'd never had a reaction like that from parents about to lose their child. They were either stoic, or they really weren't all that concerned at the lieutenant's passing. It just didn't sit right. Still, he would honor their decision. He wasn't at all certain it wasn't the right one. But, once free of the machines, if Malcolm chose to live, Phlox decided he would aid him, short of returning him to life support. 

* * *

Trip barely waited for the door to open before he was through it. "They want to pull the plug on him!" 

Archer sighed and stood up. Phlox had already reported the Reeds' decision. "Trip," he started, hoping to calm the younger man. 

"They shouldn't have a say!" he shouted, throwing up a hand. 

"They're his parents." Archer kept his voice calm. No one could expect Trip to take this well. 

That argument didn't work. "He doesn't even talk to them. They don't even know his favorite food. We know him better than they do. We care more about him!" 

Archer put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "That's not quite fair. I know the relationship is strained, and they seemed very distant, but maybe they just don't share their emotions with strangers." 

"Or with their son," Trip argued. "He's been trying to earn his father's acceptance, hoping he'd be proud of what he'd accomplished. He helped save the world! And he got nothing from his dad. He's not an easy man to get to know but I have." 

Archer guided him toward a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed across from him. "I know you have. And I'm glad. But Phlox is right. He's just suffered too much. His body just can't hold on anymore." 

"He held on for hours in the sand, baking in the sun, shivering at night. But still fighting to live!" 

"Yes, for hours, baking in the sun. Staked to the ground, no water, no shade. How much did he suffer in those hours? What about in the weeks before the end? All the months in his last year? Maybe he deserves rest now, to not suffer any more." 

Trip looked down at his fingers clasped together between his knees. "Maybe he should get to decide that," he said, his voice quiet. 

Archer matched his tone. "He may never wake up, Trip, even if we left him on life support. He can't make that choice. But his parents are his next of kin. They have the right to make the choice, even when we don't like it because it means we lose him. Phlox doesn't like it either," he admitted. "But he realized it was necessary to come to the choice. Let's not make it harder for him to carry it out." 

When Trip lifted his head, there were unshed tears in his eyes. "You'll be there?" 

"Of course," Archer replied. He'd caused Lieutenant Reed's death. He had to face him as he died. 

Three hours later, they were both there, along with Travis and T'Pol. Hoshi, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of Sickbay, refused to look at them. That was troubling, but there was time, with her, to try and salvage some of the relationship they'd once had. She would live, no matter what. Malcolm had run out of time. 

Except for Dr. Phlox, Trip stood closest to the bed. His body was stiff with pent-up emotion. But he said nothing as Phlox removed the tubes that had helped Malcolm breathe or eat or kept his blood circulating while his heart tried to keep up. 

Phlox didn't remove the monitors that recorded Malcolm's pulse, or related other information such as vitals and brain function. He stepped back then and Trip moved forward. He picked up one of Malcolm's bandaged and splinted hands. Malcolm showed no emotion or discomfort. He looked more like himself, at least, except for the neatly trimmed beard. The machines beeped more slowly. And they waited. 

* * *

After twenty minutes passed, Trip sat down, still holding his friend's hand. He pushed a bit of hair from Malcolm's forehead and leaned close to his ear. "I don't like it," he whispered, "but if you need to go, I'll understand. It's maybe selfish of me to want you to stay, after all you've been through. You're my best friend, Malcolm Reed. You're a good man, and you should be proud of all you've done." 

Thirty minutes later, the others had all found chairs, too. Malcolm's breaths were shallow and rapid. But Malcolm was still breathing. An hour passed and Trip heard Phlox promise the others that he called them down when it was time. Trip didn't move from his chair. He picked up the book that was still by his seat. Keeping hold of Malcolm's hand, he began to read where he'd left off, hoping and afraid to hope, that Malcolm would stick around to listen. 

* * *


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note: Speeched-typed the last couple of scenes. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

T'Pol had come to give the final report on the planet they were calling Sharu, from the Zheiren name for it. All evidence of human involement had been erased, leaving only the memories of those who had actually witnessed Lt. Reed and Ensign Sato. The virus had caused havoc to both Buftanis's and Zheiren's government computer networks. And explosives had taken care of any physical evidence. Captain Archer thought Malcolm would have liked that. 

T'Pol reported that the combined attacks in both countries had put on hold their mutual hostilities. Buftanis did blame Zheirin for provoking the 'aliens' by trying to execute one of them. But otherwise, they both recognized an alien threat that they were woefully unprepared to stop. Only _Enterprise_ knew there would be no further attacks. Maybe the two countries would figure out it was best to get along by the time they realized that there was no invasion coming. T'Pol also suggested setting a buoy to warn passing ships of the chronoton pulse. Captain Archer agreed. 

Malcolm, it seemed, had become even more a mystery to him in the last hour, and the captain wanted to get someone's take on what he'd learned from Hoshi's parents. "Hoshi believes Malcolm is dead and that we left him behind on Sharu," he told her. "She's in love with him." 

One eyebrow on T'Pol's otherwise expressionless face rose slightly. "That could explain her grief and anger." 

Archer stood and paced a few steps. "But it doesn't explain how. Her parents thought she was with this man until the end, and that Hoshi witnessed his death. She hadn't seen Malcolm for eleven months, and the months down there are longer than ours." 

"That is a dilemma," T'Pol commented, "but one easily solved, once she is willing to communicate with us. But that presents another dilemma." 

Archer nodded. "Do we tell her he's alive on the other side of Sickbay to only tell her that he has died an hour or so later?" 

"Or do we wait until we are sure he will survive and tell her then?" T'Pol said, supplying the other side of the dilemma. 

Archer fell back into his chair. "Six hours. It's been six hours and he's still alive." He still had trouble believing it. 

"Doctor Phlox is giving him oxygen," she pointed out. "While not sustaining his life, it is giving him a 'boost' as Trip stated it. So there is a growing possibility of his survival." 

"Which leaves us our dilemma," Archer concluded. 

"If she were Vulcan, I would advocate telling her the truth," T'Pol stated. "As she is not, I fear for her emotional and mental state were she to be told he was alive only to have him die after all, doubling her grief." 

"Add the post-traumatic stress disorder," Archer said, "and her sanity might be in doubt. What if we only told her we hadn't left him behind?" 

"We risk her trust in her parents who shared what she revealed in confidence, and Ensign Sato would likely insist on seeing him." 

Archer let out a long breath. "So we don't tell her until we know either way." 

* * *

Malcolm twitched. Trip nearly jumped out of the chair. "Doc!" Malcolm kept flinching. His jaw clenched and his face grimaced. 

Phlox came over. "Is he seizing again?" Trip asked him, fearing that was the case. 

Phlox checked Malcolm's vitals. "I think he's remembering," he said solemnly, "on a subconcious level." 

Trip's tired eyes went wide. "That's good!" 

Phloxed opened one of Malcolm's eyes and shined a light into it. "Depends how you look at it. A sign of recovery, yes. Tilting more in the direction of suvival. But for him, he's reliving it. These aren't good memories, Commander. And he can't just wake up. He's still unconscious." 

Trip's elation fell. And he remembered times when he was traumatized. Like when his sister was killed. His mind could think one thing and his body would feel or do something else. His hands would shake when he wasn't even thinking about her. He'd tell himself he had work to do and that he could control his hands. But he couldn't. They just kept shaking. Maybe it was like that for Malcolm, only backwards. "Can you help him sleep?" 

"Too risky at this point." Phlox tilted Malcolm's head to the side. "No sunburn here," he said. He took some tape and taped down the tube that ran under Malcolm's nose and past his ears. "Wouldn't want this to come loose. Keep reading, or talk to him. You may reach him yet." 

Trip nodded and then failed to suppress a deep yawn. 

"Or perhaps you need a break," Phlox suggested. Just then the doors to Sickbay opened and T'Pol joined them at Malcolm's bed. Her left eyebrow raised when she took in the twitching, grimacing Malcolm Reed. "Perhaps I can sit with him for awhile," she suggested. 

Phlox smiled. "Perhaps you could do more than that." 

"You think he would benefit from a mindmeld?" she asked. 

"It is possible you could let him know he's safe," Phlox replied. 

Trip held his breath. She didn't feel comfortable with mindmelds, but he hoped she'd agree. Maybe she could help him wake up. 

She stepped closer to the bed. She took a deep breath and placed her fingers gently on Malcolm's face. She closed her eyes. "My mind to your mind. Your mind to my mind." 

Trip waited anxiously. 

Then she gasped. 

* * *

The pain, the horror, the fear were so strong that they hit her like a tidal wave. She was the one being staked in the desert sun. It took all her effort to push past these memories to seek the unconscious mind of Malcolm Reed. The horror subsided and the memories flitted across her mind. A console, flickering to life with controls reading Audio I and Audio II . . ., Hoshi's voice whispering in his ear as they held hands, comforting each other. Her voice meeting his in an empty room. Deeper, past the memories,and then everything went black and silent. She tried calling out to him. Her voice echoed, as if in a cavern. There was no answer. 

T'Pol pulled back, tried to focus on those memories of Hoshi, wrapped in sheets, her face dipped behind her hair, the softest of whispers. The tapping of Morse code in each other's hands. The strange console, Hoshi's voice. She saw them, felt these memories, and she felt the physical body of Malcolm Reed as it calmed. The images became clearer, the snatches of moments longer. And she realized how Hoshi had grown to love him, and how he had loved her back. And why Hoshi thought he was dead. 

She broke contact and was gratified to see Lt. Reed lying calmly in the bed. "I helped him find better memories," she said. "But he's still lost. No thought, no consciousness." 

Trip touched her eye. "You're crying." 

T'Pol took a deep breath to steady herself and release Malcolm's emotions from her. "Hoshi believes he is dead," she told them. "She believes that because he told her good-bye." 

Trip shook his head in confusion. "But they weren't anywhere near each other." 

T'Pol felt more centered, more herself. "No," she agreed, "they weren't." She turned to Phlox. "Doctor, may I speak with you privately." 

"Of course," Phlox replied. He led her to his office. 

"Is it possible for humans to be telepathic?" 

That took the doctor by surprise. "Telepathic?" he repeated. "Well, yes, theoretically, and there have been some cases of humans who claimed to be psychic and even telekinetic, though they are rare and, mostly, unsubstantiated. Are you suggesting Hoshi is a telepath?" 

T'Pol nodded. "Or Lieutenant Reed. One or both of them must be. The Ensign has proven receptive to telepathic communication in the past." 

"While Lt. Reed has not," Phlox pointed out. 

"And yet," T'Pol said. "I found something to suggest that he is." Another flicker of shared memory came to mind. Trip's voice. 'We're not there yet.' "At least on a subconscious level, he knows about the time travel." 

Phlox was silent for a moment. "So he would be the telepath?" 

"They spoke often, even at the end," she said. "They discussed her plan." 

"Her plan to kill herself?" Phlox gave a humph. "That explains a lot. She's grieving. We could tell her he's alive." 

"Will he remain so?" she countered. "And would she believe us anyway? She may rely upon that telepathic link. She would trust him more than us. In her mind, we left them on that planet." 

She let him ponder the dilemma for a moment. "The captain had decided that we should not tell her until his fate is decided. And doctor, unless either of them confirms this, this is only a hypothesis at this time. If it is correct, I do not believe Mr. Reed would wish it widely known." 

Phlox nodded. "No, he likely would not." 

* * *

Malcolm was nothing but blackness. He had no thoughts, no conceptions, no realizations. His body breathed, his heart pumped. But he was unaware, floating in nothingness that he might have thought was death, if he could think. He was nothing. 

But after three days, there was a prickling at the edges of him. It intensified and deepened until it was at his center. Pain. Not so much a conscious thought but a subconscious realization. Outwardly, he tensed and his brows pulled down slightly over his eyes. A machine he didn't hear beeped a little faster with his pulse. 

An hour or so later--What was time to him?--he realized the pain was in his chest and in his hands. An image crashed in him: a long metal stake pressing into his wrist, pain searing through his arm like an unending electric shock. His own scream deafened him. His breath hitched and his fingers twitched slightly as Trip held his hand. 

For hours, he relived what he didn't realize was behind him. Flashes of the last year warred with the torment of his last day and a half, until, finally, to escape it all, he opened his eyes. 

The desert disappeared. The glaring lights and sounds of the lab did not. The machine was beeping above his head, keeping him alive again. He was alive. He blinked. Saruman approached his bed and Malcolm stopped breathing. A hand reached for his face from the other side. It turned his head until he saw a familiar face, a human face. Trip. 

Malcolm opened his mouth but he had no breath to speak. He pulled in a painful breath and asked, in a hourse whisper, "Where--are--we?" 

Trip touched Malcolm's arm. "We're in Sickbay--." 

Malcolm pulled his arm away with a jerk. Another breath seared his chest. "Where--the--ship?" He was afraid of the answer. _"We're not there yet,"_ Malcolm remembered Trip saying. 

"Malcolm, we haven't left. Not yet. We're right where we were before the shuttlepod crashed." 

Crashed? Nearly forgotten memories forced themselves into his mind: pain in his head and arm. Hoshi holding her side. Moody broken and disemboweled at the rear of the shuttlepod. But so much time had passsed. It didn't make sense. 

Still, it wasn't the dreams that he had withheld from Hoshi. The ones from the past. And with that realization came another: Hoshi. 

"Hoshi," he breathed out loud. 

"She's here," Trip told him. "We got her. She's okay." 

But Malcolm had heard her voice in his head like before. "Malcolm!" she called. With a jolt, he saw through her eyes. Bandaged, she was struggling from her bed. 

He pulled in another breath. "No," he told Trip. "She's--not." 

Trip's expression showed confusion, but Malcolm couldn't be bothered with that. Not now. She was near. She was alive. She was in pain. "Help--her." 

There was a crash sound across the room. She'd fallen. Trip stood up and rushed over to her to see her. His eyelids were heavy but he forced them open. 

Finally, she was there. Her hair was longer, her face bruised. Phlox was holding her up but she reached for him with her good arm. Trip came back and pulled his chair over for her as Phlox lowered her into it. 

And then she was beside him, and he forgot about Phlox and Trip, about the pain, the sounds around them. There was only her face, her voice, her touch. 

"You said goodbye." 

_I thought I had died,_ he thought back to her. It took so much less effort. _I couldn't hear you anymore._

She touched his face and he lifted his hand to hold hers. His fingers wouldn't work right but hers did, and she pulled his hand to her face as she cried. After a moment, her voice came back to his mind. "I must look terrible." 

_No,_ he reassured her. _You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life._

"I love you!" She began to cry again. 

The heaviness returned to his eyes and he cursed it. _I love you, Hoshi Sato. I--_. His thought broke. Her face began to fade. But not her hand. Not yet. 

She made an audible sound, but he heared Phlox assure her. "He just needs to rest." 

Then the tiredness was engulfing him and it was too hard to resist. The last thing he realized before the darkness covered him was her face lightly touching his, her hair brushing against his cheek. 

* * *

Trip had stepped back to give them the privacy they obviouosly wanted. Hoshi still didn't speak, but neither did Malcolm even try. But the way they acted made it very clear that they cared for each other very deeply. He met T'Pol at the counter as Phlox went to assure Hoshi that Malcolm was just going under thanks to his pain meds. He pulled back the curtain and helped her into the next bed over. 

"What just happened?" he asked T'Pol. 

"To what are you referring?" 

"To her knowing to come over," he replied. "To him knowing she was hurt. To both not saying a word." 

"It is not for me to say," T'Pol said. "I should prepare a presentation to explain the chronoton pulse and our tardiness in retrieving them from the planet." She turned and left Sickbay. 

She knew something. She probably got something in the mindmeld to clue her in. She hadn't told him anything then either. But she had talked to Phlox. Trip thought about guilting him, but the doctor was busy getting Hoshi settled in the new bed and examining Malcolm. 

Trip sighed and decided he should give the captain the news that Malcolm had woken up. 

The captain was on the Bridge. So was Travis and Carstairs and one of Malcolm's tactical officers. They all looked up at him intently. They all knew he was going to stay with Malcolm until he passed. Trip decided to put them all at ease. "He woke up. He even asked where the ship was." 

Travis cheered. A few of the others clapped. Archer stood up. "That's great news, Trip." He motioned the younger man toward his Ready Room. Trip followed. 

Trip waited until the door was closed. "It was the darndest thing. He barely breathed 'Hoshi' and she nearly fell out of her bed to get to him. And neither one said a word to each other. They held hands, touched each others faces, but not a word." 

Archer sighed. "She loves him. She told her parents that the man she loved had died. She meant Malcolm. She was grieving for him." 

"Makes sense now," Trip said. "But how? They were opposite sides of the planet. You'd think they'd have a lot to talk about." 

Archer shook his head. "I don't get it either. But I think he must love her, too. 'Save Hoshi,' he said in the message. That was important to him." 

"And he asked about her when we found him," Trip admitted. "Twice. Once in the sand once in the ship just before he--" He stopped. He hated that memory. 

"They were together after the crash," Archer suggested. "Maybe it happened then. Is Phlox certain then? Is he out of danger?" 

"He was busy," Trip replied, taking a seat. "But I think, realistically, Malcolm's condition didn't magically improve just because he woke up." he sighed. "I suppose it's just more likely now that he'll keep surviving. And he can have a say in whether or not to use life support." 

Archer nodded. "I should really give his parents a call. You'd think I'd be looking forward to it." 

"Better you than me," Trip said. "I'm not sure I could keep my temper in check." 

"Maybe I should see Malcolm first," Archer stated, standing. "He may want to talk to them." 

"No good," Trip responded. "Malcolm's out again. Pain meds. You're stuck with the parents." 

Archer fell back into his seat. He took a big breath then reached for his communications console. "Tell Travis to get under way." 

Trip suddenly yawned hard and long. 

"And then get some sleep, Trip," Archer added. "That's an order." 

* * *

Trip looked well-rested the next morning. Malcolm's awakening had probably made that easier for him, Archer guessed. It confirmed his hope that Malcolm would survive. And while it did that for Archer himself, it didn't alleviate his anxiety enough to allow for a restful sleep. Because this morning, he would be explaining to Malcolm and Hoshi why they had been seemingly left to suffer those long months on Sharu. 

At least he didn't have to face their glares alone. Hoshi's was alert and fierce. Malcolm's was sleepier but discernable. They were angry and, from their point of view, they had every right to be. 

Malcolm looked better. His skin was still burnt and pale--an odd combination. But the fact that he could tense muscles that had been limp and loose before gave his face a healthier look. 

Hoshi looked a lot better. Gone were the tears and that mask of grief. She'd combed her hair and cleaned herself up. For Malcolm, he assumed. Not for them. 

T'Pol stood beside Archer, ready to explain the technical details. Archer, though, tried to start with some very sincere pleasantries. "I am so glad to see you awake, Malcolm. And, Hoshi, we're all glad you're willing to communicate. We have a lot to explain." 

Malcolm took a few difficult--and apparently painful--breaths. "Why--did you--leave us?" His voice was rough and only a few shades above a whisper. 

Hoshi squeezed his arm but kept her glare squarely on the captain. 

Archer took a steadying breath. "Can I first ask you about Lt. Moody? Did he survive the crash?" 

Hoshi shook her head after a moment. Archer sensed she had more to say about that but he decided it could wait until they were stronger. "Thank you. Malcolm, Hoshi, we never left. A few minutes after the shuttlepod left, it disappeared. It took us a few hours to realize what had happened. But we never left. T'Pol?" 

T'Pol stepped forward with a PADD. "The shuttlepod encountered a chroniton pulse." She pulled up a graph on the PADD. "The pulse had many of the same characteristics as the energy emanating from Crewman Daniels' quarters. The shuttlepod likely lost control and crashed on the surface of the planet. But it did so approximagely one year before it left this ship." She pulled up a graphic showing the projected arc of the shuttlepod trajectory with time stamps showing its descent into the past. 

"How?" Malcolm breathed. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Hoshi frowned and reached for the PADD. 

"The chronoton energy disippated as you went, Malcolm," Trip explained. "The further you got from the point of contact with the pulse, the further back you went. That's when I realized the voice in the message was yours, Malcolm. The Morse Code said, 'Save Hoshi.'" 

The glares were gone. In their places were stricken, horror-filled expressions. "I--did--" Malcolm started. 

Archer cut him off. "This was _not_ your fault, Malcolm. That message came when you were standing on the Bridge. However it happened, it happened. You couldn't have known. If anyone is to blame, it's me. If I had waited until we had more information. . . ." 

T'Pol interrupted him. "Then they may have waited even longer for rescue, Captain. It is a paradox. If you didn't order the shuttlepod to retrieve the messenger, there would have been no message. But there was a message. It had already happened." 

Archer sighed. He'd been over and over that paradox. "The end result is this: Although you experienced a year on that planet, you were only absent from this ship for a few days. When you crashed, we were still looking for the Xindi weapon. We weren't here to get you back." 

Hoshi closed the information on the PADD then wrote something on it and held it out to them. Trip took it and read it out. "Why not rescue us as soon as you knew?" 

Archer sighed again. "First, we had to find you. And we had to know we could get you safely. I could not risk anyone else getting hit by that pulse." 

"We found Lt. Reed first," T'Pol added. "I devised a virus to remove all computer records of your existence." 

"I worked on a plan to get you out and destroy the physical evidence," Trip jumped in. "You were harder to find, Hoshi. We figured you were separated but we didn't know where they'd sent you until almost the last minute. Once we realized what they were doing to Malcolm, we knew we had to go. Malcolm, it might make you feel a bit better to know we blew up about half of that lab." 

"And the one in Buftanis, Hoshi," Archer added. "I'm sorry we couldn't get you sooner. I really am. We almost lost both of you. We lost Moody but at least he didn't have to endure what you both went through. It's a lot to take in. We'll leave the PADD if you have any more questions." 

* * *

A lot to take in was an understatement, Malcolm thought. A year that lasted only a few days? The horrific last few days since he sent that message with the communicator. The message that got Bayzhoo killed. If he hadn't done it, would they have even crashed? 

"I don't know what to feel," Hoshi thought to him. "I still _feel_ angry but I feel guilty for feeling it." 

_I had dreams,_ he admitted to her now. _Recurring dreams. I was here on_ Enterprise _at different times in the past. Someone always said, 'We're not there yet, Malcolm.' It nearly drove me mad. Did I know somehow?_

"Did you know we could do this?" she asked. "Share our thoughts, our senses?" 

_Never in my wildest dreams._

"But it was there," she argued gently. "The ability. Maybe you had a subconscious sense of it, that we weren't in the right time." 

_So I'm psychic, too?_

"Would it have changed anything for us?" she asked as she softly stroked his face. "Knowing? Would it have been any different?" 

That was the question, Malcolm realized. And how did it change things now that they knew for real? 

* * *

Trip was able to sleep again that night. But before he slept, he spent a lot of time thinking about Malcolm and Hoshi, about what they might feel like now that they knew. They had not really even shown that they were happy to be rescued, but he figured that was there somewhere. They were extremely happy to be together. That much was obvious. But the anger was gone, or at least muddled with the realization that there had been no hope when they had hoped, and only hope when they had none left. How long had it taken for that hope to die? And what had given Malcolm just enough to transmit it in the message? There was so much left of their stories. But there was one thing that Trip was really curious about, and he decided to ask Malcolm about it the next day. 

* * *

Hoshi felt she was in a tornado of emotions and some of them didn't fit anymore. _Enterprise_ hadn't left them behind, but she couldn't let go of the anger and feelings of betrayal though she tried. Seeing Malcolm awake and alive flooded her with relief and joy. Being near him, touching him was a luxury she had given up believing she'd ever have again. She didn't want to die anymore. She wanted to dance, to lay beside him, to take some of his pain on herself. 

He looked terrible and often dropped back into unconsciousness, but he was alive. And that he was there beside her made him the most glorious thing she had ever seen. Hope rekindled in her. Hope that he would get better and that they'd have a life together going forward. She never wanted to be apart from him again. 

He was sleeping now. And she was left alone to the lights and sounds of Sickbay. They were familiar, and she tried to draw comfort from that. But she felt a fear building in her now. She slept, but in her dreams Radagast was coming for her and taking her back to the operating room in Zheiren. She could hear the doctors as they discussed her anatomy and feel the pain of every incision. She could not scream and she could not wake herself up. 

"Hoshi?" a familiar voice interrupted the doctors. "Come with me." 

She trusted that voice and the pain left her. The doctors left her. She found herself standing in a near-barren landscape, mostly sand with a few bits of shallow scrub. "It's the best I could do," Malcolm said. "It's not the lab and not _Enterprise_. It's before things got really bad." 

He looked wonderful. There was a gash on his forhead and his arm was in a sling, but he was clean-shaven and otherwise healthy. "I like it here," she told him. "You're here." 

"I'll stay as long as I can," he said. "I want you to have good dreams." 

* * *

Captain Archer found himself feeling sorry for Malcolm again. He had contacted Mr. and Mrs. Reed again and found them less than enthusiastic for their son's survival. They even questioned if their wishes had been followed. Archer tried to remain diplomatic but it was hard. "We did remove him from life support," he assured them. "He just didn't die. He is still in critical condition but he is awake and communicating." 

He thought he saw a flicker of relief in Mrs. Reed's face. He saw no emotion at all in Stuart Reed's expression. When they didn't respond, he asked if they'd like to talk to their son. 

"That won't be necessary, Captain," Stuart Reed said. "We'll inform his sister. Good day." And the screen went blank. 

Archer wished they'd stop informing his sister. Hoshi had spoken with her a few years ago, and she had seemed warm and well, emotional. Archer wondered if the elder Reeds cared for their son at all. 

* * *

Trip managed to see to his duties in the morning but it was after lunch now and he wanted to visit Malcolm. He had some questions. He was surprised to see that Hoshi wasn't in the next bed. "Where's Hoshi?" Trip asked as he pulled a chair over to Malcolm's bed. 

Malcolm took a breath, then replied in brief, "Shower." 

Trip was actually relieved for the opportunity to pry for a bit without Hoshi there. "Malcolm, when you woke up, she knew. She'd been over there a couple of days grieving your death apparently with no idea you were lyin' here unconscious. And when she did realize and came over here, neither of you breathed a word. There's something different going on. You told us to save her. Like you knew where she was or that she needed saving. She could have been dead for all you should have known given your distance from her. Something's going on." 

Malcolm's face blushed a slightly deeper red, and he took in a shaky breath. "They cut my head." 

"Yeah," Trip replied, quietly. "Phlox gave us the highlights." 

"After," Malcolm said. His next words were halting and barely louder than a whisper. "I thought, 'Hoshi, I'm glad--you're not here.' She answered." 

Trip's eyebrows shot up at the realization. "They cut your head open and now you can communicate by thinking?" 

Another breath. "Thought I was crazy." He paused and grimaced a bit at some pain he must have felt, and Trip felt bad about making him talk this much. "But it was better--than being alone." 

Trip sat back. "Wow! So that's how you spoke all those languages." 

Malcolm nodded lightly. 

"Can you do that with anyone?" 

Malcolm shook his head. 

"How do you know?" Trip asked. "Have you tried?" 

"Easier," Malcolm said between breaths, "than talking." 

"Oh," Trip sighed. "Yeah, I can see how it might be. Sorry about that. I'll try not to make you talk much." He decided to change the subject. "There was a dead one. In the room with the communicator." 

"Bayzhoo," Malcolm repled. He sounded sad. 

"He gave it to you?" Trip asked and Malcolm nodded. "His friend was a guard. He showed us the room, and where to find you. Why'd Bayzhoo do it, do ya think? It obviously didn't go over well." 

"Was my friend," Malcolm said. 

Trip put a hand on Malcolm's arm. "I'm glad you had one, Malcolm." And he meant it. He didn't think he could ever have come out sane from a year alone, especially one so hellish. But Malcolm had had Hoshi and this Bayszhoo, who cared enough to commit a treasonous act on Malcolm's behalf. 

Trip decided a lighter topic. "I've been reading _The Lord of the Rings_ to you. Seemed fitting. I was hoping you could hear it." 

Malcolm shook his head, but said, "You can read." 

* * *

Malcolm listened to the familiar story, and, as he lay quietly, he could almost manage to not feel pain if he didn't breathe too deeply. But something else buzzed at the edges of his awareness: an uneasiness of place. Sickbay didn't look like any of the rooms he'd been in in the lab, but it was, among other things, a lab. And while he could logically understand that his present location was a good thing--a step up in the universe--a long-repressed and thoroughly illogical need to be somewhere, anywhere else was creeping in on him. 

Listening to the story Trip read helped him step outside his own body and self and get lost in Middle-Earth for a time. That helped to keep the uneasiness at bay. And in another part of his mind, he shared with Hoshi the wonders of a warm-water shower and soft towels to dry off. 

After an hour in which Hoshi had returned with wet hair falling down around her shoulders, Trip cleared his throat. "That's about all I can manage right now. I'll need to get back to Engineering now that we're underway." 

Malcolm didn't want him to stop. He needed the escape the book provided. 

"I'll take it," Hoshi said between clenched teeth. 

Trip smiled as he must have figured she wouldn't read it out loud. Malcolm realized now that Trip may find his abilities too interesting to keep to himself. He imagined various _Enterprise_ gawkers coming to pester him to do parlor tricks or tell them what they were thinking. Or worse yet, to come and stare at him. like Bayzhoo's friend had through the window in the door. 

He moved a hand to block Trip from leaving. He had to take deeper breaths in order to push words past his vocal cords, and that stirred up the pain in his chest. But it was important. "I don't want to be a freak show." 

Trip shook his head and placed Malcolm's arm back on the bed. "I won't share your secret, Malcolm. I can't say that noone else will figure it out, especially Dr. Phlox or T'Pol. She did a mind meld with you after all. But I will respect your privacy." 

Trip walked over and handed the book to Hoshi. "You told him?" Malcolm heard her think to him. 

_He guessed,_ he replied. Trip waved and then left. _We were a bit too obvious it seems._

"Can he hear you?" 

_No, It would seem this is a secure channel after all._

* * *

T'Pol brought the lieutenant's meal as she had been since his condition had become favorable to eating solid foods. She was familiar with him enough to know that he would not feel comfortable being fed, even though he had the use of only two fingers of each hand. She realized that as a Vulcan, she was the best person for the task. Her repressed emotions meant the lieutenant would not see any pity in her expressions or in her actions. It had helped to put him at ease. He had even asked her to bring an extra set of silverware so he could practice holding them with the fingers he could move. 

She had waited for him to ask her about the mind meld but he had not once brought it up. As he finished his meal and held the cup with his drink in both hands, she decided that it was time. "Are you concerned about what I saw and heard during the mind meld?" 

"Who have you told?" His voice was weak, but she could sense a note of hostility nonetheless. 

"Only Dr. Phlox," she replied. "I witnessed memories, no consciousness. They were painful memories at first, but I found better--pleasant--memories and sifted them out. You were unconscious but in a troubled state. It helped to calm you." 

Reed relaxed now. "So you know how we talked." 

"Yes, though I was uncertain as to which of you had the ability." 

"When they cut my head," the lieutenant said. He paused for a breath. "It just happened." 

"I believe it happened before that," she told him. "Though perhaps in a different form." 

Reed took in a deeper breath and winced from the pain. He looked at Hoshi then back to T'Pol. "The dreams?" 

T'Pol nodded. 

"They were infuriating," Reed said, finally betraying his emotions with the rolling of his eyes. 

"'We're not there yet, Lieutenant,'" T'Pol recited. 

Reed seethed. "Someone always said that." 

"When you pleaded for us to come and rescue you both," T'Pol added. 

He nodded but stayed silent. After a few minutes, he said, "I didn't know." 

"Not on a conscious level, it would seem," she confirmed for him. "I do believe the captain should be informed." 

"Of the dreams?" 

T'Pol began to order the tray of now empty dishes. "The dreams, Lieutenant, are of no consequence. They change nothing. Though, perhaps you could learn to 'trust your gut', as they say, more deeply. But I speak of your telepahty. It would answer many questions." 

He offered her a barely perceptible nod. "But no one else." 

T'Pol nodded back. "Understood. I shall leave you," she nodded toward Hoshi, "to your discussions." 

* * *

One week had passed since he had awakened. Seven days where the monotony was only broken by the visits from Trip and having Hoshi beside him. The captain and a few others had stopped by occasionally. Some of the MACOs had asked for an accounting of Moody's death. Travis had updated them on the scuttlebutt circulating the ship. But no one asked him if he was spying on their thoughts or even looked at him askance. Malcolm had to admit that T'Pol and Trip had been true to their words. Only Trip ever asked him about his abilities. And it was getting easier bit by bit to trust him enough to give him real answers. 

And now Hoshi was leaving. She was being released to her quarters. 

"I could stay, Malcolm," she told him, silently as they were accustomed to do. 

_I know what it's like for you here,_ he reminded her. _I feel it, too. It's too much like where we were._

"It's easier together," she argued. 

He agreed. _It is. But if you go, then one of us will be free of this place, and you can share it with me._

"You're sure?" 

Trip entered just then. "Are you ready, Hoshi?" he asked brightly. "Doc said I could escort you to your quarters." 

_I'm sure,_ he assured her. _You showed me sky in the lab and snow in the desert. If we can manage that, I think we can manage a deck or two._

She nodded then and turned to Trip. "I'm ready," she said through her still-wired jaws. She stood and Trip held out an arm to catch her waist. "We can take it as slow as you need," he told her. "I'll be by later, Malcolm. I'll bet you're going stir-crazy in here." 

"Sadly," Malcolm said, and it was getting a little easier to talk, "I'm quite used to that by now." 

Hoshi took one look back and Malcolm gave her a smile. It wasn't easy. He knew he'd told her the truth. What was a few decks compared to half a planet? But still his heart was breaking to watch her leave. 

* * *

"Let's stop here first," Hoshi said, indicating the door they were about to pass. 

"Malcolm's quarters?" Trip asked. 

"I want him to see," she replied. She was getting so tired of talking though her stabilized jaws. Phlox said it would only be for another week. 

Trip shrugged and keyed open the door. He stepped in, and then lifted her through it. She only remembered being in here one other time, and it made her smile. She had stood topless in his doorway, after her shirt had been snagged in the crawlspace above the corridor. The look on his face was priceless, and she had to tell him to grab her a T-shirt before he could even move. 

_Do you remember?_ she asked him. 

"I did as you asked, and was a proper gentleman thereafter." 

_Yes,_ she admitted, _you were._ She looked around, from the neatly made bed to the perfectly ordered desk. She took a step toward the desk, and Trip helped her into the chair there. _Can you see?_

He was silent but she could feel that he was there. Finally, he replied, "It's surreal. Nothing's changed. But it's only been a week or two, so it's perfectly reasonable that nothing's changed." 

"And it feels like it shouldn't be the same," she said, and she realized she'd said that thought out loud. 

"That's gotta be a bit incongruous," Trip said. He sat on the end of Malcolm's bunk. 

She sat for a moment with the raw non-verbal thoughts Malcolm was going through in his mind. When he spoke, she shared his words with Trip, "It's a comfort, but also seems unreal." 

"Like a dream," she added for hereslf. "We'll wake up and it will all be changed." 

"Maybe it will get better each day it doesn't," Trip offered. "Eventually, you'll stop feeling like you're in the wrong time. The routines of life will become mundane and you'll just fit." 

"Go," Malcolm told her. "You need to do this for yourself." 

_I'm not sure I want to,_ she told him. 

"He's right. Each day it doesn't wink out of existance, it will feel more solid. Go get started on that in your quarters. Thank you for showing me mine." 

Hoshi stood. She sighed, then said, "Let's go." 

Trip stood and helped her through the door back out into the corridor and they travelled in silence until they reached her quarters. Hoshi used her good arm to key it open and Trip lifted her through. She led him to her bed and sat down, purposely keeping her eyes on the floor. "Thank you," she said. "You can go." 

Trip took a step back. "If you need anything," he said, "let me know. Phlox said there will be a nurse by regularly to check on you." 

Hoshi nodded then waited for him to leave before looking up. She was glad she'd had the preview to prepare. It was indeed surreal. Her quarters were exactly as she'd left them. The reality felt more real now. They had only been gone a week. But, then, there were two realities now. A year ago, she had been with the crew, searching for the Xindi and also crashing onto Sharu with Moody and Malcolm. Her quarters spoke for the first. Her aches and pains and wired jaw for the second. 

She felt like two people, a copy of herself. A replacement for the original. The original left these quarters a couple of weeks ago. She never came back. 

She, the copy, lay down on the bed. It felt soft, familiar. She reached up for her pillow and hugged it to herself. She lay that way for nearly an hour before she abruptly put the pillow down and used the edge of the bed for support to stand. 

Copy or not, she had the memories of both. If the original Hoshi Sato wasn't coming back, then these quarters belonged to her, the copy. And maybe Malcolm was right. Maybe each day would get better. Maybe she and her former self would finally be just the one person again. 

Besides, this Hoshi Sato had Malcolm. And as awful as the last year had been, she would be hard pressed to trade that. The Hoshi before might not ever have realized that she loved him. 


	30. Chapter 30

Author's Note: This is an end. Is it THE end? I don't know. It's not the end I'd imagined but as I wrote it, it started to feel like the end. I actually wrote it a couple of months ago and held on to it to see if more came. But to be honest, my life is in such crisis now that I can't hardly IMAGINE, let alone write. So this may be the best ending Alien Us can get at this time. I have no idea when my life will get any easier. I hope it will someday. If I'm not imagining, I'm in a severe state of depression. And I'm not the type to get spontaneously depressed. It comes from circumstances in my life. Until those circumstances let up, I'm stuck in it. I hope then, that this ending, is at least satisfying to you, if not the ending you were hoping for. 

Update: My life has gotten better. Things have let up and I'm imagining again. I should be imagining Gabrielle's very patient DS9 story that started in 1997. Yeah, 1997! But instead, I'm imagining the sequel to Alien Us. Got a lot of kinks to work out and that's just for the beginning, but it's starting to come together. 

**Star Trek: Enterprise**

**Alien Us**

By Philippe de la Matraque 

**Chapter Thirty**

Hoshi was torn. She was exited to get the wires off today and to see Malcolm again. They'd talked most of the week, of course, but she had been reluctant to return to SickBay and its lab-like environment. And that's where she had to go to get the wires out. Her palms were sweaty at the thought; her knees were bouncing as she sat waiting. 

A med-tech had come several times a day to check on her, but Hoshi had chosen to remain in her quarters the whole week. Travis came to visit a couple times but she preferred being alone with herself or alone with Malcolm. She watched the door now for a med-tech or someone to help her to Sickbay. 

"You know if I could," Malcolm's voice said, "I'd run out of this place and come to you." 

_I know,_ she replied, silently. _And I want to see you, see how you're healing. But I never want to see the inside of a lab again. Unless it's a computer lab or engineering lab._

"Just nothing to do with biology." 

_Exactly._

"Just think how nice it will be to yawn properly." 

The door chimed and her pulse began to race. _Or eat ice cream?_

"Definitely." 

"Come in," she said through her clenched teeth. 

She didn't remember this one's name, but she stood. She took the tech's outstretched arm and walked the few steps to the hatchway. "Step with your good leg first, Ensign." She did as instructed, and the tech helped her pull her more reluctant left leg over. _My grandfather broke his hip once,_ she told Malcolm. _I used to complain that he walked too slow after. I wish I could apologize now._

"I'm sure he forgave you long ago. 

Each time she put weight on her left foot, her hip hurt. But it hurt less than yesterday and that was something. Just as Malcolm had said breathing was getting a little easier every day. Besides, they were both alive and free. That was worth a lot of pain and inconvenience. 

The walk seemed to take an hour but the door opened and she could see his face. He looked so much better. He was no longer gaunt and the red color of the sunburn was fading to a light tan. 

He smiled when he saw her and she felt a tingle fill her chest. She wanted to run to him. 

"You're beautiful," Malcolm thought to her. 

Then the sounds of Sickbay came to her, the beeps of consoles and skitterings of animals. The tingle stopped. The pounding came back. The tech helped her to a bed, not the one beside Malcolm. Phlox met her there and blocked her view of Malcolm. 

"Hoshi," he asked, "would you like to be anesthetized for this?" 

She was breathing hard and fast. _No!_ she thought. It took a minute for her to find her voice. "No." 

"I'm going to numb your face," the doctor said. He pressed a hypospray to one cheek and then the other. Then he touched her face. "You tell me if you feel any pain." 

She began to relax. "I don't feel anything." Then she remember the lab in Buftanis and the things they'd do to her when she couldn't feel anything. 

"You're going to be fine," Malcolm encouraged. "We're free, we're safe. We're home." 

_Tell me a story,_ she told him, as Phlox laid her back on the bed and began to work. 

* * *

Malcolm had hid from her how he really felt. The sounds Phlox made when he pulled a wire out, or at least the sounds Malcolm imagined brought back a panic he'd managed to hold at bay most of the day. But she didn't need to know that right then. She was the one who needed a story. And hadn't that been the way they'd supported each other through the last year? They'd held each other up when the other needed it. 

Then Phlox stood back and Hoshi had flexed her jaw and smiled at him. And he forgot his panic and just let himself drink in her beauty and the wonderful idea that she loved him. 

She used the beds to help herself as she came to him. "I'd kiss you," she thought to him "but I can't feel my face. I'd probably slobber all over you." 

Malcolm almost laughed. He'd forgotten what it felt like to laugh. _Just to be able to see you, to touch you, is more than I dreamed I'd ever get. I can wait for that kiss. Just not too long._

The door opened and Trip waved as he went over to talk to Phlox. 

"How are you, really?" Hoshi asked, silently. She held his hand. Her skin felt so soft, even though he could feel her calluses. 

_Better,_ he told her. _And worse. I'm starting to feel my ankles again. Nerves healing, Phlox says. They hurt, and then I remember and they hurt more._

"I wish they'd come for you a few days earlier." 

_How would they have gotten you away from all those females and guards?_

"It was Turn," she argued. "Most everyone forgot about me. I just wish they hadn't done all that to you." 

_I wish none of it had happened to either of us. We could have hid in the trees and survived on nuts or whatever without the natives ever knowing until_ Enterprise _was finally in range. We'd still have been together, still lost but not lab rats or slaves._

Trip and Phlox broke their thoughts. "Hey, Malcolm," Trip said, "How would you like to take a break from Sickbay?" 

Malcolm's pulse went up a few beats. "How?" he asked. "I can barely walk three meters." That was the distance from his bed to the head. He'd been looking forward to the day when he could relieve himself without assistance to and from the bed. Then maybe he'd just walk right out of Sickbay and never come back. 

Trip grinned. "I've got a surprise for you, and Phlox says you should be fine, for an hour or two." 

"Though there will be a medic nearby at all times," Phlox added. "Just in case." 

Trip turned and headed for the door. He stepped into the corridor and retrieved what looked very much like an old-fashioned wheelchair. 

Malcolm didn't like the idea of being so weak he had to be pushed around in a wheelchair. But he was that weak. He'd become weak deliberately over the last year to slow his healing and hopefully delay further operations. Besides, Hoshi was smiling and the prospect of leaving Sickbay for even just an hour was too enticing. "I'll need some real clothes," he said. 

"We can stop by your quarters first," Trip offered. "Then if we hurry, we can catch the tail end of breakfast. No crowd in the Galley but a few waffles and a tall glass of milk. What do you say?" 

Malcolm looked to Phlox. "Can I get unhooked?" 

"I'll compromise," Phlox said, "I'll disconnect the monitor, but I'll give you a mobile unit." 

Malcolm nodded. He had a sinking feeling that he was worse off than he hoped. Was he still so close to dying that he couldn't leave the beeping monitor for an hour. Phlox got busy. Hoshi motioned for the med-tech. 

"I feel like having breakfast, myself," she said, lisping the words from her numbed lips. 

Malcolm smiled at her. "Are you sure you won't dribble your milk?" he asked and she smiled back. 

"The feeling is coming back," she replied. 

"The numbness should wear off within the next fifteen minutes. Go enjoy breakfast." 

Hoshi squeezed his hand and then hobbled off with the tech. 

Once Phlox had him loose, he and Trip helped Malcolm stand and then sit in the chair. Phlox attached a few contacts to Malcolm's chest and then connected them to a small box which tucked into a pouch on the back of the chair. "If you feel anything is wrong," Phlox said, "if you get dizzy, if your chest hurts or it gets hard to breathe, come right back." 

Trip put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "We'll take good care of him, Doc." 

The doctor smiled, though not all the way. And then they were moving toward the double doors that led to the corridor, away from Sickbay. Malcolm closed his eyes as Trip pushed him through and the doors hissed closed behind him. Silence. The only sounds were Trip's footfalls. No more beeps and twitters. It was wonderful. He was finally free. Nothing about this reminded him of the last year. He could just be. 

The wheels stopped and Malcolm opened his eyes. Trip stepped around in front of him and opened the door. He picked up the small monitor box and handed it to Malcolm. "Hold this," he said. "Might as well leave the chair here as try to get it through the hatch. Fortunately, nothing's really three meters away inside." 

Malcolm put his feet on the floor and Trip steadied him as he stood. He stepped one leg through the hatch and Trip went in sideways, helping Malcolm stay upright as he stepped his other foot through. Then Trip helped him to the bed. 

* * *

Trip started opening cabinets until he found a T-shirt and some pants. "Will these do?" 

Malcolm looked at the wires leading from the monitor to his chest. "Button-down might be better." 

"Right!" Trip opened a few more cabinets and found one. He found Malcolm staring a lot like Hoshi had. “You’re getting that surreal feeling, huh?” 

Malcolm nodded. 

Trip figured that was going to be hard to shake. Gone for a year but gone only for a week or so. Hoshi was doing better with it now. Malcolm would, too, eventually. He just had to keep getting better. “You think you can manage.” 

Malcolm smirked. “If I could use my opposable thumbs.” 

Trip nodded. “Well, you want me or the nurse waiting outside to help with that?” 

Malcolm just nodded. Trip tried not to think of it as helping another man to dress. It was just helping a friend, a friend he had almost lost. A friend who had very nearly died in his arms. Malcolm managed a lot of it anyway. He couldn’t button or unbutton and he couldn’t stand steady to get the pants up around his waist. Trip helped when he had to and tried to let Malcolm do whatever he could for himself. 

* * *

Malcolm was quite used to the loss of dignity by now, he supposed. Trip did make it easier, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. As he was pushed down the corridor to the turbolift, he realized his resentment of Trip from the betrayal in the dream was actually fading, slipping under the care and friendship Trip in reality had shown since before he’d woken from his coma. 

A few crewmen were leaving the galley as they entered. They nodded to Malcolm and went on their way. No gawking. Trip stopped at the counter and picked up a tray. He handed it to Malcolm and then pushed him toward a table by the window. The plate was still warm. It held what looked like two waffles, pre-cut into bite-size pieces. Each was lightly peanut-buttered and covered in syrup. Trip helped him set the tray on the table. “Ah,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “Your date has arrived.” 

Malcolm looked to the door and saw Hoshi, in a lovely flowered dress, escorted by a med-tech. She still had a very noticeable limp, but she was smiling brightly as the tech brought her to his table. 

Trip helped to push in her chair. “And what would you like for breakfast, milady?” he asked. 

She looked at Malcolm and took a deep breath. Her smile widened. “A large bowl of vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce and whipped cream.” 

“Oh-kay,” Trip replied, with a puzzled look. “You’ve been waiting for that, huh?” He turned back to Malcolm. “Milk?” 

Malcolm looked to Hoshi. “Go for it,” she thought to him. 

“Hot chocolate, actually,” he told Trip. “With marshmallows.” 

Trip raised his eyebrows, but bowed and said, “Coming right up, sir.” 

And then they were alone. Together. On a date. 

“It’s a dream come true,” she thought. 

_An impossible dream made possible,_ he agreed. He held her hand with the two fingers that actually worked and just lost himself in the beauty of her eyes. _I’ve just been through hell and back but I figure I’m the luckiest man in the universe._

Trip returned with a large bowl of ice cream and a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “I have to go to work, and that guy,” he thumbed over his shoulder to where the med-tech sat reading a padd, “is going to mind his own business for exactly one hour.” He handed Malcolm a straw. “Enjoy it.” Then he bowed to Hoshi, “Milady.” 

Hoshi looked at his plate. “They remembered the peanut butter?” she asked aloud. 

Malcolm nodded as he worked the fork into his hand. “And graciously cut it for me. I can manage a fork. Not a knife and fork.” 

“Can I try it?” 

He raised an eye brow. “You’re sure?” 

She took a deep breath and tried to look very serious. “I think I’m ready for peanut butter on waffles.” 

“Alright then.” He smiled. “You do know this may be life-changing?” 

She smiled back. “Life has changed a lot lately. I think I can take it.” 

He stabbed a piece of waffle and held it out to her. She took the bite off his fork. It took a moment or two to chew and swallow. Then she licked her teeth. “It’s a bit stickier,” she said. “But I like it. Consider my life changed!” 

Then her voice came in his head again as she took a bit of big ice cream, dripping in caramel, “One of the major advantages of your new abilities is that we can talk with our mouths full.” 

_That we can,_ he agreed and lifted a bit of warm, peanut-buttery waffle to his mouth. It was even better than he remembered. 

“I missed this so much,” she thought to him. 

* * *

Hoshi maneuvered her chair closer to him once the ice cream and waffles were gone. They looked out at the stars through the window. Millions of points of light in a sea of blackness stretching light years away. She had seen the night sky from Buftanis, of course. But it was different to be here, _in_ the stars, free and once again holding the man she had fallen in love with through her mind and his. The man she had lived for. 

And they dared to dream together. They had a future again, one full of endless possibilities. She would introduce him to her family. They would love him, of course. She would go shopping with his sister, Madeline. They would have a house to come home to one day, children to raise. A life together. 

He squeezed her hand with his two good fingers and she squeezed back with all five of hers. She’d just lived through hell, but she was the luckiest woman in the universe. _I love you, Malcolm Reed._

The End (?)*

*It's not ironic. Read the Author's Note at the top of the page. 


End file.
